Dear creepy motherfucker who wouldn't leave us alone,

I get that all bars are meat markets to you. I don't blame you for trying.

Oh, Cruel World!

Dear child-wielding woman,

I understand having kids is hard. Not only the actual process of birthing (you know, with the human body coming out of you and all), but keeping track of them, keeping their fingers out of their noses and keeping them quiet seems very difficult. It drains you physically and mentally. I'm proud of you for taking on this much-needed task of perpetuating humanity, really I am.

DEAR FUCKTART,

The next time you want to chat with your bestie on the T, please don't talk so loud that the WHOLE FUCKING TRAIN can hear you.

DEAR LADY HOLDING UP THE ESCALATOR AT SOUTH STATION WITH HER ROLLING SUITCASE

I know, I know, you're weak and frail and your suitcase is probably really heavy, so you can't just walk up the escalator. You have to stand. That's OK, that's why escalators were invented.

HEY, MBTA

I know Coraline's a great film and all.

DEAR PRETEND HOMELESS KIDS

To the pseudo-Holden Caulfield weekend warriors at Copley: I know your moms are dropping you off in their heated leather-interior minivans downtown so you can enjoy a raucous weekend of panhandling and not showering.

DEAR MS. "STUPID JERK" BUS DRIVER (YEAH, YOU)

On the MBTA website, the Users' Bill of Rights states that we have a "right to courteous, clean, accessible and dependable service."

Dear insane bitch at Back Bay Station

Next time you want to LOSE YOUR FUCKING MIND at someone, you should take heed: Don't yell at my dog.

Dear careless tagger,

Graffiti art is usually something I can appreciate.

Dear Masshole getting on 93 South,

I don't know you, but this isn't really a missed connection since you hit me with your car.