To the Quiet Broken Fridge

Soon our time will be over. Today, someone suggested I carry you out of here by myself. I politely explained it would too great a task and I would need help. Then I said, “I’ll only be able to do it is if it is in parts.”

I was serious. There is a hammer in the hallway.

The kitchen looks like you vomited all over it. There is a crummy feeling where the good used to be. Everything went bad when you walked away from our relationship. The kitchen stinks and I think you are a douche bag. Ruiner!

I’ll never trust your kind ever again. I should have known better. It’s not like your type hasn’t given up on me before. I naively thought you were better than that. I naively thought you were committed.

Though I hate to admit it, I’m finding it extremely difficult to live without you in my life. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t manage to survive without you. The bitter taste of your betrayal keeps me going.

Sooner or later I’m going to need to eat. That will force me to clean the kitchen…I’ll feel bad all over.

Why?! Why have you done this to me?



PS: I wish I could quit you.

Dear Fidel Castro

I’ve heard you’ve seen better days. It’s gotten me thinking about the good old days. While I think about the good old days, I like to eat Kraft Dinner. Have you ever enjoyed a bowl of macaroni and cheese? It tastes good. It may not be good for you, but it tastes good. I’d send you a box, but I worry that all those CIA assassination attempts have soured you on packages from strangers. Which is a shame but with the intestinal problems you’ve been having lately, macaroni and cheese probably wouldn’t do you much good. Get better soon so you can visit Canada and drink Havana Club with me in my mansion, though I figure international travel probably isn’t high on your list of priorities.


Fergis T. McGillicuddy