Dear Matt Finley,
I love you.
Respectfully yours,
Kelly Cooper

Dear Stephen King,

Stay out of my garden! I recognize that you've gotten tired of writing mediocre books and seeing them all get adapted into cinematic Ebola, but even "Cujo" was better than watching you strut around in a werewolf mask, stepping on my bell peppers. Next time you want to pull that shit, do it in the front yard. And don't park in the driveway. My girlfriend couldn't get her car out and she was late for work.

And could you stay out of the house while I'm trying to sleep? I'm not saying I don't appreciate you as an author, but Jesus, Mr. King, if you really feel the need to creep around my room, tongue-kiss my ears and continuously whisper, "Read 'The Tommy Knockers,'" could you do it before 11 p.m.? Some people have to wake up early.

Oh, by the way, I did read "The Tommy Knockers." What the fuck were you thinking?!

That reminds me, stop leaving those stupid mailbox messages on my answering machine. My mailbox is not haunted. You're stealing my mail. I watched you do it. We had a conversation! You said you were John Grisham and that you needed my mail as "evidence" for your next book. Remember that? And then I told you that I didn't think John Grisham would have a license plate that said STPHNKNG, and you threw the mail at me and ran away.

Dammit, Mr. King, do you know that in the last week, I've had to buy five jars of peanut butter because you keep eating it all? And if you are going to make sandwiches, at least have the decency to close the bread. Every time I open a new loaf, it gets stale within a day because you can't seem to operate a twisty. Also, you're crumby as hell. I mean, come on. I have napkins. The last thing I need is a whole bunch of pigeons in here.

I know you apologized and sent over a Barnes and Noble gift card, but the attached note said it bore a horrific curse. I can only assume the "curse" was that it only had $2.67 left, and when I tried to use it, it wouldn't scan because, according to the cashier, there were too many bite marks on the magnetic strip. Now, I'm sorry, but even for the guy who wrote "The Langoliers" that's a little over the top.

Oh, remember that time you hid in the bushes and tried to scare me by shouting, "I'm the clown from Stephen King's novel 'It.' I will kill you because that's what I do in Stephen King's book, 'It,' written by Stephen King?"

Well, those shrubs technically belong to Mr. Brentlaw next door, and, while I never got along with guy (between you and me, he's kind of an asshole), you did do a number on his hedges and it only seems fair that you pay to have them replaced. He's already been hounding me about my girlfriend's SUV. I don't want any more trouble. I mean, Christ, he's a convicted sex offender.

On top of all that, I had to replant all the squash and I'll be surprised if I get any decent peppers this season. You don't need to apologize. Just please don't do it again.

Respectfully Yours,
Matt Finley