Dear Letter Openers,
Who the fuck do you think you are?
Seriously, how dare you have the audacity to place yourself among the foundational desk adornments and pretend like you belong? Pens. Clacky balls. Those documents you should have faxed to Linda last week, but you’ve just been too busy. All of these are instrumental to facilitating productivity at the desk environment, while you waste space, you pointy piece of utter garbage (okay, maybe not Clacky balls, but I’ve got an open letter coming to them real soon, just you wait).
No one needs a letter opener. Sure, the postal service was cool once upon a time, with people sending letters all willy-nilly like paper grows on trees. But we’ve got MySpace now, and AIM. Even back when you could receive a letter without automatically assuming it’s a ransom note for your only child, envelopes are PAPER. They always have been. Unless you’re an infant, you can tear that shit open with your bare hands, and if you are an infant, you don’t have W2s to mail. If you’re an infant who does have W2s to mail, you can hire someone to do that shit for you, you’ve got blocks to grab and random objects to put in your mouth. Honestly, letter openers, you’re like a broken dildo – a waste of space when fingers can do the job just as well.
What are you doing with your life? You’re a knife; you are capable of so much. You could chop caviar and slice sashimi in world-renowned five-star restaurant. You could cut out a diseased lung with the finesse of a god and save a man from the cold grasp of death. You could stab a guy. But no, you open postage. For fuck’s sake, how do you look at yourself in the mirror without feeling pure disgust? Look at your brother, Scissors. He’s made a name for himself on the desk. He cuts with precision and safety, even thriving at every level of elementary school education system. Is Mrs. Bridges ever going to tell kids to not run with you? No. Because you’re a failure. Even your bitch-ass cousin Can Opener is a success. He was made with that fucked-up head, and look at him now. No one eats canned tuna without his say-so. And what do you do? Sit in the second desk drawer of a guy probably named Millard, gathering dust.
In conclusion, fuck you. Fuck you and everything you stand for, letter openers. You couldn’t have even come up with a more creative name? You don’t see anyone using Letter Writers to put words on Letter Holders. Dumbass letter opener. I hope you get rusty all up in your naughty bits.
P.S. Tell your friends, envelopes and stamps, that I’ve had enough with the licking bullshit. You don’t see me licking tape every time I need it to stick. I’m watching you, muthafucka.