Complaint Letters to People, Places, and Things That I Composed at 4 A.M.
"Dear Brain: Specifically, please cease replaying the 'spilled apple juice' incident from my senior year of high school."
Dear Incredibly Cute Animals on Social Media
Let me start by saying I’m a huge fan. There is no way I’m staying up from 3–5 a.m. every night watching your videos for my health. In fact, my doctor has been pretty adamant that I need to stop. But it’s 2026, and it is no longer enough to simply be an animal on social media.
If I am to continue sacrificing the sleepiest hours of the best years of my life, I’m going to need you all to put in some real effort. Staring at your “spare hooman” and then swatting at him is no longer sufficient. There are cats out there dressed as baby chicks riding on their owner’s shoulders in Paris. The bar has been set. All I ask is that you put as much effort into your job as I would put into mine were I not showing up too exhausted to be productive.
Dear The “Watch Credits” Option on Disney Plus
Imagine this: I am sitting on my couch basking in the afterglow of a cinematic treasure like The Jungle Book, or Avengers: Age of Ultron, or The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again. The film’s score swells triumphantly as I reminisce on the romance, adventure, and laughs we had along the way.
Suddenly, a small box with the phrase “Watch Credits” pops up and I now have ten seconds to find my remote control before 102 Dalmatians begins playing at a louder volume than any other offering on your service. And if I do want to navigate back to the movie I had been watching before, say, to see if there’s a post-credits scene where Samuel L. Jackson recruits The Apple Dumpling Gang into the Avengers, I have to scroll from all the way from the beginning of the movie.
Then, when I do reach the end, the “Watch Credits” option derails everything all over again.
Dear Jared Leto
Please forgive the informal salutation, which I know should read “Dear Mr. Jared Leto.” But I feel, having enjoyed your work for multiple decades, as if I have gotten to know you personally. My favorite role of yours was your Academy Award-winning turn as Rayon in The Dallas Buyers Club.
And my least favorite by far was your recent appearance in this panic dream I just woke up from. You were dressed as The Joker, and for some reason you filled in as my company’s Human Resources director, telling me that 38 years is far too old to leave my current job and search for a new one. When you began laughing maniacally, it made the act of chaining me to my desk feel personal. In future I ask that you stay in your own head and out of mine.
Dear Brain
We both know how grateful I am for the work you do. You know it because you had the thought, and I know it because you put the thought into my head. That being said, I’ve identified a few areas for improvement.
Specifically, please cease replaying the “spilled apple juice” incident from my senior year of high school. I understand that the combination of khaki pants, adolescent awkwardness, and the presence of my crush made it memorable, but I would very much prefer that it not be revisited during inopportune times: when I’m in the shower, or when I’m trying to sleep, or when I’m leaving my therapist’s office and finally feeling free of free-floating shame and anxiety.
Speaking of memory, I find it confusing that you’re able to bring up that moment without being asked, and yet you require thirty minutes to recall the name of the street I grew up on so I can recover the password to my bank account. I would appreciate it if you could prioritize accordingly.
Hit the “like” (heart) button. It lets the algorithm know people are reading and enjoying this.