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An open letter to my parents, with whom I am now living

Oh hey guys. I just saw you a few minutes ago in the family room.

First of all I wanted to thank you for allowing me to broadcast my show from your living room and/ or kitchen. I appreciate it and I will give you a couple points on the back end once I figure out what that means.

Recently something has come to my attention though, which I can remain silent about no longer. It’s that you hang two fly swatters on a hook attached to the inside of the pantry door where you keep the garbage.

Exhibit A: the pantry (no indication of the Jack-in-the-box of swatters concealed within)

This is where the fly swatters live, which is fine. I’m sure the insect world is very aware and frightened of you two vigilantes keeping their population in check. If bugs had terrorist threat levels our house would be code red and tiny swatter-sniffing fleas would be nosing up against the pantry doors. My problem is not with the swatters so much as their placement.

Due to the laws of physics (an object in motion tends to stay in motion and also centrifugal force), the mere act of opening the pantry door launches these swatters up and away from their hooks, their balletic arc impeded only by contact with an object: me. They are essentially daughter swatters.

Exhibit B: swatters

Not only that, as I am the one who often is asked to take out the trash which involves leaning down and pulling the bag out of the can, my face is at prime swatter level. Taking out the trash for me involves a delicious one-two punch of trash smell and then bug guts. It’s as if I never left New York.

I’m hoping we can move the swatters because if they attempt frottage with my body or face one more time, they’re going to accidentally end up in the trash.

Thank you.


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A really nice email I received about ARIYNBF

I have a file on my computer which I’ve labeled “Fan Mail” because sometimes I receive emails from people which are so nice that I want to be able to quickly find them to re-read them when I’m feeling down or I want to put them on my blog which I never do, even though I always intend to do so. I think I’m really going to start though. Here’s one I received yesterday which I read out loud to my parents and which meant a lot to me.


I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed today’s show. I love your dad. He is always a great addition to the show. I love his sense of humor and the way the two of you interact with one another.

There were a couple touching moments today that really had me thinking how lucky it is that I found your show. It made me realize the great connection you have with your fans.

I don’t think you could do this show if you did not care about people. For the handful of haters today… I don’t know if they know how good we have it,

where we can come and hang out and blow off some steam for a couple of hours each week. I feel sad for them. It’s always a few that try to spoil it for the rest right?

Maybe they don’t have the emotional content to allow themselves to enjoy life’s simple pleasures? So I just want you to know how much joy your show brings to my life each week.

I hope you had a great time with your family and friends on your trip to California.

Have a safe journey back to NY.

I really hate to fly!


Jason Colacchia

Huntington Beach

Also wanted to say I appreciate the time and energy you put in your show.

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I have a fan who's a cat


Thanks to Flicka’s mom of Gingerbread & Flicka for sending in this photo! (Which I meant to post a couple weeks ago.) I’m proud to count, among the fans of my web show, a porn star, an 11 year old (my friend’s daughter who likes the episodes featuring stuffed animals) and now a cat. And it’s not like I’ve even done much promo in the cat market, so that’s a genuine fan right there.

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Dear Broker

Oh goody! Time for another “Dear Broker”!

Dear Broker,

I’m sorry that when I asked the square footage and you said, “I like to approach it a different way, what are you trying to accomplish?” I sort of ignored your question and just asked my question again using different words (“Do you know the dimensions?”) It’s just that I didn’t quite understand what you were getting at—what cruel irony that I didn’t know what YOU were trying to accomplish—but now that I do, I can say with confidence that I’m trying to “accomplish” finding out the square footage or dimensions of the apartment.

Nothing “cozy” please.


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An Open Letter to The Bug On My Wall

Dear Bug,

I’m sorry I felt the need to stand on a step stool and spray you directly with Raid Ant & Roach killer in “country fresh” scent. You were neither an ant nor roach, in fact I don’t know what you were, but you were disgusting-looking and uninvited basically, and NYC is a cutthroat place. Perhaps you were one of those “good bugs” that harness their insect powers for good—eating bad bugs, donating your time to very small soup kitchens and building tiny homes for larva? If so I feel terrible, however how am I supposed to know? It’s not like you spoke up when I came for you. You just sat there, stuck to the wall with some kind of tentacle/antenna thing. And by the way, bug, perhaps antennae have served you well over the million years you and your kind have persisted, but they aren’t serving you well in my bedroom. I suggest something cuter. Like a very tiny set of rabbit ears. Or a wee Groucho Marx nose-and-glasses getup. Everyone loves a bug with a sense of humor!

I’m sorry too that when I sprayed you, you became affixed to the wall surrounded by a puddle of bug spray. You were like the head of a moose on the wall of a log cabin, only you were an entire bug on the wall of a New York apartment. I’m more sorry, though, that I thought it wise to walk away after watching you for a time, so sure was I that you were a permanent wall ornament, because when I came back you were missing. The truth is that I have no idea where you went and it’s not for lack of looking. I even considered trying to stick something roughly bug size where you sat on the wall and then make that thing fall to see where it would go. But I didn’t because I can’t reach that spot on the wall which is how we got into this mess to begin with.

And finally, I’m sorry the makers of Raid Ant & Roach spray in “country fresh” scent were forced spend time in a country that smelled so strongly of insecticide.


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An open letter to the rain

Dear Rain,

You are standing in the way of my going to the gym this morning. I suppose it’s not really your fault, you didn’t ask to be squeezed out of those clouds like so much liquid cloud snot, however I am angry at you because you are just doing your thing with no thought to how it might affect other people. In general, I find you to be selfish. And don’t give me that old song and dance about rainbows because frankly, I don’t care anymore. I’ve seen enough rainbows to last a lifetime. I’ve seen them in cheap kaleidoscopes, I’ve seen them shimmering on the edges of rotten meat, I’ve seen them on 3-2-1 Contact and I’ve memorized Roy G Biv.

Incidentally, have I lost you all with the rotten meat and the Roy G Biv? Because there was this show that I used to write jokes for and I recall writing a rotten meat/rainbow one and the person reading had never seen a rotten meat rainbow. He only ate fresh filet mignon. I’m making that up.

But back to you, rain. Oh, are you falling even harder now? That’s real nice. I hope you evaporate and die.


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