Dear darling boyfriend of mine. I don't hate your mother... I fucking LOATHE her. Her cheeky ways, her annoying voice, the way she tries to befriend me or make connections by intruding in conversations she has no business sticking her fat ass in where it doesn't belong. I hate her homemade bread, which is always banana. How many times do I have to repeat the fact that I've been deathly allergic to bananas for years. Still, every Christmas she always happens to forget. I hate how she buys me rubber stamps because SHE likes them, I hate how she always calls you over for dinner, while I've been at the stove trying to win you over with something "amazing." I fall short compared to this woman—75 pounds short. She's a divorced bread-baking bipolar maniac who needs to leave her 20-year-old son and his girlfriend alone. Go read the Bible you crazy Jesus-humping cuckoo!

—Anonymous