You must have some sort of eye problem. Cataracts, glaucoma, or perhaps you have had your pupils dilated within the last few hours. Because, you see, you are wearing your sunglasses inside, Maverick, and it needs to stop. Your Oakleys are quite nice, and probably contributed $15.00 of commission to the high schooler working the Sunglass Hut afternoon shift when you purchased them. I'm sure they also effectively filter out sunlight when it is present. However, inside this building, there happens to be none. There is a bit of artificial light thanks to fluorescent or possibly incandescent fixtures, but it doesn't seem to be bothering any of the other people in here except for you. Maybe your eyes are just sensitive, and you need them, or maybe you're just a douchebag. You know that song "Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart? The one where the video reflects a police state in which people are made to wear sunglasses at night? Well, I gotta believe he used this idea to exaggerate his message and highlight the ridiculousness of such a system. It's funny how one person, in this case, Corey Hart, can look at a situation and use ...

Dear bartender who won't look at me to let me order, I know you've been busy tonight. The endless requests for Mojitos has been taxing, taking it's toll on you through the mashing of mint leaves in the glass with that wooden thing. You're going to need to ask your Bacardi rep for a new one of those. I know you'd rather serve that group of four girls at the end of the bar, and I don't blame you. If there was a hot female bartender here as there is in many other establishments, I would probably have a better chance at getting a drink because I look like a sucker and she thinks that being hot will make me tip her more. However, she is not working tonight, and you're all I've got. All I want is a rum and coke, or possibly a redbull and vodka, I haven't decided yet. It's busy in here and I'm leaning in hoping to make eye contact for that brief moment that indicates I would like to purchase one, maybe two alcoholic beverages from you. But you and your black button down shirt are having none of it. You know I'm here, my existence is ...

Dear guy hanging out of the sunroof of the limo, We have never met, but there are a few things I am pretty sure I know about you already: You are on a bachelor party or some other sort of testosterone-oriented night out with several of your other male friends. You have been drinking Keystone since about 1:30 this afternoon. You bought that new "going out shirt" you're now wearing this morning at Armani Exchange, and you're telling everyone it's "Armani" because you don't know the difference. Most of your friends' names have the suffix "Dog" attached to them, and are possibly hyphenated with the starting initial of their given name (examples: G-Dog, T-Dog, and 24 other possible combinations)

Dear guy at the gym who practices karate in front of the mirror, We haven't crossed paths in a while, but I know you're still out there. And I want you to knock it off, because I haven't forgotten about you. You're still occupying the fitness room at a 24-Hour Fitness when no classes are in session, and you're still ridiculous. Your Senor Frog's Ensenada souvenir tank top indicates that you are in your mid-forties, maybe older, and that makes your behavior all the more sad.