Dear Mika

You're back, I see. Back to gift the world yet more of your squealing, campy disco shenanigans. Back, like a persistent case of crabs.

Your new single is akin to stuffing a razor up one's urethra. Who buys this smoking tat? Are they five?

Regards,

Davis.

Dear Big Brother

BUH-BYE, Big Brother. BUH-BYE.

You looked under every rock, checked every sweaty crevice of society, dug your nails deep into the winnet-caked skid-mark on the pants of humanity and brought us the worst of the worst. You scraped the detritus off the arse of pond-scum and put it on the telly. You gave us racists, idiots, attention-seekers, no-marks, exhibitionists, clowns, and an all-too loathsome focal-point for the ME ME ME Generation. Most unforgivable of all, you brought us Jade Goody (God got wise to that particular ruse though, so that's all good).

You got people to wank each other off under the sheets in a desperate scrabble for ratings. You got them to scream at one another. You clogged the airwaves with hour-long shots of morons sleeping. You did the unthinkable and made The Truman Show a reality. And now you are no more. I bet the hacks at Heat magazine are weeping into their designer Cola. 

Thanks for lowering the tone for 10 long, miserable years. Thanks, Endemol. Thanks, Davina. Thanks, Big Brother. And BUH-BYE.

Regards,

Davis.

Dear Home Office Minister Alan Campbell

RE: this story.

Surely a more appropriate rebuke to the clueless Tory tit would've been: "SHEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIT..."?

Missed opportunity.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Michael McIntyre

Please put the following to good use.

Regards,

Davis.

Dear Ben Stein; Hughes Family

Here is what must be allowed to happen at the funeral of John Hughes. I say this with no trace of malice, flippancy, disrespect or insincerity. It is what John would've wanted.

Ben Stein stands at the head of the ceremony and reads a roll-call, in alphabetical order, of the surnames of everyone in attendance. When he gets to the name of the deceased, however...

"Hughes... Hughes... Hughes..."

Rest in peace, John. It's not every filmmaker who gets to put his name to a genuine, first-class, grade-A masterpiece, but Ferris Bueller's Day Off is just that. We loved you, sir. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - we all adored you. We thought you were a righteous dude.

Regards,

Davis.

Dear Peter Andre and Jordan - sorry, "Katie" (II)

SHUT THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING FUCK UP, THE PAIR OF YOU.

"She said this!"

"He did that!"

The only people who give even the slightest dribbly shit are you, and idiots. QED.

Regards,

Davis.

Dear "Gadget Lovers"

FYI - 

gadget [noun]: Expensive, overwrought piece of pointless shit that you JUST DON'T NEED.

Regards,

Davis.