Dear Drunk Guy on the 22 Clark Bus,

When you walked on the bus last night, I knew that something was different about you. First of all, you ran down the bus aisle all the way to the back, and nearly fell on me. You looked seemingly harmless; a moderately dressed African American man with a unique aura surrounding you. It was only as you came closer that I discovered the unique aura smelled a lot like cheap scotch.

I had once heard that in the African American community, men even if they have never met, typically acknowledge each other when their paths cross. It's usually as simple as a head nod, sometimes accompanied by a " What's up?" But that's much too simple for you. You chose to lean slightly to the left, with a focusing one-eyed glare and pointed at the other African American man sitting near us. Classic.

You proceeded to speak loudly on the bus and told all without Ipods in their ears about how "You'd be a rich man if you didn't smoke and drink" as you got a can of Milwaukee's Best from the plastic bag convenience store bag you're carrying and cracked it open. A rich man indeed. You told us of the condo you'd own, the cars you'd drive, and the women you'd fornicate with. My favorite was a particularly charming tale about how you blew through $12,000 in a weekend. You were "living the good life" in a fancy hotel. One where you could get carry out anything: carry out pizza; carry out liquor; carry out women. Ah, those were the days.

As I approached my bus stop, I was almost sad that I wouldn't get to hear you lament about how they don't' make furniture as sturdy as they used to, and how when you touch a car nowadays it dents. But you wouldn't let me leave without something to remember you. How wonderful it was that when I got up and made my way towards the door, you shouted out "Cracka!!! Cracka!!" which I can only take as your endearing way of calling me 'Cracker.' I'll treasure the last drunken phrase you uttered to me until (if fate should have it) we meet again.

Sincerely Yours,
Philthy (aka Cracka)

Dear Andy Roddick,

Hey Andy, it's me, Philthy. How's it going?

Listen,I know you're probably really tired from that match against Roger last night. I just wanted to let you know that I think you played really great. You left it all out on the court for the first two and a half sets, and I respect that.

Granted, there have been many times during your career that I've rooted for you, and you've let me down. I think during Wimbledon this year when you lost to Gasquet, I said, "That's it, I'm never cheering for Andy Roddick again! You Suck!" or something like that. But I couldn't do it, Andy. I couldn't not cheer for you in the US Open. Even though I knew that you'd eventually have to play Federer, and he'd most likely kick your butt again, you can't not cheer for the Americans in the US Open. What am I? A Commie?

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you didn't disappoint me too badly. Sure you lost in straight sets, but you played your best, and that's all that matters (isn't' that what our Mom's used to tell us? Just do your best.) Keep playing hard and I know one day you'll beat Roger (hopefully.) And for now, I'll keep cheering you on in hopes that you'll be that revitalizing spark that US Men's Tennis desperately needs. But if you lose to one more no name in the early rounds of some tournament, I swear to everything holy, I'll punch you right it the babymakers.

Tootles,
Philthy

Dear America,

Let me be the first one to say that I love this country. But America, there are certain times when I question your decisions. For instance, this weekend, the number one movie at the box office was "Rush Hour 3." You forked over nearly $50 million in 3 days. At an average of $9 per ticket, that's over 4 million of you that saw this movie. Tell me, what were you thinking?

Now, America, I'm a rational man, I could forgive you if this was just a single incident. But it wasn't, was it? Let me refresh your memory.

March 5, 2007 I wake up on a Monday morning, ready to face the day. It was a beautiful spring day here in Chicago, and I could feel the vivacity in the air. I was on my way to work, perusing the paper, when I turned to the Entertainment section. Then I saw what you did. You spent $39 million that weekend to see the brilliant film "Wild Hogs." John Travolta, Tim Allen, Martin Lawrence, and William H Macy on a motorcycle trip across the country...in leather. Seriously...this was appealing? So appealing in fact, you decided to spend a total of $167 million supporting it. You make me sick.

As if that wasn't enough I remember last summer, I was in line to see the "Pirates of the Caribbean" sequel, and as I approached the marquee...I noticed that "Little Man" was sold out on 2 SCREENs! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I turned to a couple people standing in line near me and asked them "Am I seeing things, or is 'Little Man' actually sold out?" To which they replied "Yeah man, I know. We have to see something else too." If it were legal I would have sterilized those two people right then and there, so they wouldn't continue to populate the world with bad decision making skills.

Here are a couple clues to let you know this movie was going to be horrible:
1st, Marlon Wayans (as a man playing a baby.)
2nd, Shawn Wayans (you remember "white chicks", don't you?)
3rd, if you recall from childhood, this movie's plot was actually portrayed wonderfully by Bugs Bunny in a Loony Toons piece. Of course Bugs Bunny (who is an animated character designed for the amusement of children, let me remind you) managed to tell the story in 8 minutes, not 109 minutes. 109 minutes of gut wrenching torture.

Even though IMDB has named this movie the 5th worst film of all time, you spent nearly $60 million to see it.

Now, America, I know that change is possible, but I also acknowledge that it won't happen over night. I'm sure you'll stumble a few more times, but I'm urging you to please stop seeing these movies. You're just giving the people in Hollywood an excuse to keep making them.

Sincerely,
Philthy