These Are My Confessions

It’s my birthday today. Well not today, because regardless of when you’re reading this, it’s not my birthday anymore. But today—when I’m actually writing this—it is. And because today is my birthday, I have some… confessions. I’m like Usher. Except poorer and with less domestic unrest. It’s actually nearing the end of my birthday, I’m full of wine and cake, and I have some things to say.

Birthday Pro Tip— if you grab a handful of uncut birthday cake before the server has a chance to bring a knife and plates, two things might happen: Your mom will take pictures of you grabbing handfuls of cake and send them to all your grandparents. Also, you might be asked to leave the restaurant. Whatever. Worth it.

And now, for no reason at all, a series of short letters from me to various people, places, and things.

Dear Tres Hombres,

Your top-shelf margs are amazing. But the food that comes out of that kitchen is a war between those boil-in-the-bag veggies and the microwave, and it’s at a stalemate. Please take a note from my ancestors and enact the scorched-earth policy on your kitchen, and stick to the margs.

Dear Grumpy Cat,

I’m over you. I admire your steadfast bad attitude, and I hope very much to one day reach your level of curmudgeonly behavior. I must confess though, I would much rather see the exploits of Frumpy Cat. Please round up a sample of possible candidates. I suggest checking out the cats that hang out by the Synthesis dumpster.

Dear new Chico State students,

You’re obviously not all bad, but the few of you who are running around town drenched in Axe Body Spray and using words like “bro” and “fag” are ruining it for the rest of you. You really should do something about that. And just so you won’t think I’m biased against the men— ladies: please quit it with the shorts that clearly expose your butt cheeks. It’s an awful look, and I feel very strongly that you’ll regret those fashion choices later in life.

Dear Ben Affleck,

You’ve made some really terrible movies. Which isn’t a crime—and if it were, nearly every actor who’s worked a decent amount in their career would have to be locked up. The truth is, Batman is the last profitable character that exists within the DC universe. The publisher has refused to change and adapt over time, and the characters are stagnant and impossible to empathize with—which has left their comics filled with brightly-colored spandex and antiquated storylines, and are mostly being purchased by those who have been following those series for decades, or by people who are getting them to fulfill nostalgic purposes. Although I know you’ve been a bit of a punching bag in the media lately, I wouldn’t worry about the success of this movie too much. And if nothing else, just remind yourself that you can’t be any worse than Clooney’s rendition of Batman



Zooey Mae has been working as a writer monkey for Synthesis Weekly since 2007. Her favorite things include (but are not limited to), Jeffrey Brown, bubble wrap, Craig Thompson, pillow forts, receiving handwritten letters, and whiskey. She spends her free time stockpiling supplies for the impending robot Apocalypse and avoiding eye contact with strangers.