Dear Mr/Ms/Mrs Mayor

Some people still write letters to their politicians. I appreciate keeping the post office on its toes. If I were to write a letter to the government, I'd start with the Mayor of New York City. I admit I'll be sorry to see Bloomberg -- Captain Ban -- go. His rejection of stuff is something I can get behind. Except for the smoking ban. That still pisses me off.

Anyway, I thought better of sending all my great ideas to some nimcompoop and instead created this list of STUFF I'D BAN IF I WAS MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY OR THE WORLD, WHICHEVER COMES FIRST.

A LIST OF STUFF I'D BAN IF I WAS MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY OR THE WORLD, WHICHEVER COMES FIRST

-- Backpacks on wheels. Defeatists and quitters will have to find another way to cart their shit around.

-- Brushing your hair in any public place. Keep that shit on the private.

-- Stopping short. Jerk move.

-- Shortstops. Made-up position. Commit to a base already.

-- Big and Tall stores. Unless I start seeing Little and Squat stores, what's fair is fair.

-- Babies in strollers in bars. Sorry parents. It's too much equipment for drunks to navigate. Wrap that thing in one of those burritos and we're in business. Also would like to point out that they have these places called liquor stores where you can buy delicious beverages and enjoy them in your own home with your kid asleep or locked up.

-- Donut holes. Pointless. For babies who can't commit to a full-on doughnut.

-- Doughnuts. Again, pointless. They'll never be cake. You can keep saying, "These are cake doughnuts," but my cake isn't fried and it sure as shit doesn't have "nuts" in it, literally or figuratively.

-- Filberts. No one eats them. They're the black sheep of the mixed nut bag.

-- Hazelnuts too can suck it. Especially those that dare to flavor coffee. Vomitrocious.

-- Bedazzling. Please don't call it a comeback.

-- Pets on airplanes. Sitting in your lap. I can't believe this slipped by the FAA. Hey lady, your "emotional distress" is best served by Xanax not your furry yip-yap.

-- Paul McCartney's pass. Dewd can't sing anymore. I'm sorry too but facts are facts. Zip it, buddy. Lennon asked me to pass along that message. And Yoko.

-- Debates about birth control. Unless you're a lady, talking about your own lady parts and choices, please shut up. I don't care what garbage issues from your mouth hole or any of your other holes for that matter.

-- Hole, the band. We don't have to worry about a reunion, do we?

-- Reunions. If I wanted to see/talk to you, you'd know. Chances are I don't remember you anyway and that's embarrassing. . . for you.

-- Biting your own tongue. That smarts!

-- Using this list or any part of it to get yourself elected as Mayor of New York City or the World.

Buried alive!

If I don't die drowning, I will surely meet my untimely end in an avalanche of someone's pile of crap. Like in one of those old lady apartments jammed with 70 years of newspapers and Ladies Home Journal. A tidal wave of New York Posts smothering me. 

Please don't let me die under a pile of New York Posts. The headline the next day will be insufferable. 

If you have teetering columns of useless shit all over your dwelling, please don't invite me over. For clarification, I give you this list. 

IT'S NOT COOL TO HOARD THE FOLLOWING AND EXPECT ME TO COME TO YOUR SHITHOUSE, A SHORT LIST

• CDs. If you're still buying CDs, we can't be friends. Mix tapes are acceptable. 
• Dolls. You're an adult. The end.
• Lamps. I read an article about some guy who had 100s of lamps in his one-bedroom apartment. Ri-goddamn-diculous.
• Toasters. I have trouble with this one because on the one hand, who doesn't love toast? Only Communists. But do you really need more than like five toasters max? Nah, you don't. 
• Animals. Two should suffice, across species. Unless you're a zoo. 
• Money. I read today that Oracle's CEO received +$96,000,000 in compensation last year. Who needs that much money lying around? 
• Papers. Two words: silver fish. 
• Wine. I know, surprising. But what's really shocking is why you're not drinking that delicious wine. You are dumb. 
• Tools. Unless you're a serial killer, it's disturbing to hoard so many of the same type of tool. No one cares. Unless of course, you're about to murder them. 

I can hear you whining, "but this is my treasure." Let me file that under I don't give a shit. If you still need convincing, watch this through to the end.