Dear Chelsea,

While I was walking around Berkeley the other day, a homeless woman asked me if I could spare a million dollars.

I think she should consider setting her sights a little lower.

Love, Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I’ve moved to California—can you feel our closeness? Sure, I may be living in Berkeley right now, surrounded by pot smoking hippies and homeless old men jamming to Madonna on their battery-powered boomboxes, but I take comfort in that we at least live in the same state now.

Oh, and the Internets tell me that you have a new boyfriend. I’m glad your coslopus is getting some attention.

Love, Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

On your show tonight, you mentioned something about doubling the height of the fence around your home…

Guess I’ll be signing up for climbing lessons.

Love,
Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

What do you make of this whole people-changing-their-name-on-Facebook-to-conceal-their-actual-identity phenomenon?  I think it’s ridiculous.  One of my slutty drunk friends recently changed her name on Facebook to Princess Rose Shishkabibble.  

I think that’s also what she calls her vagina.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

My lesbian friend Brittany won tickets to the Comedians of Chelsea Lately show in Philly tomorrow night.  Because she’s a heinous dyke, she didn’t ask me to go and instead, she’s giving them to our friend Gina (rhymes with vagina) who actually lives in Philly.  

You’d like Gina — she’s a slut and a lush.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

Which is a greater threat to humanity: the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico or the fact that today, in America, Godsmack can have a number one album.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

Last night my friends participated in something called a rainbow challenge; and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with drag relays or showtunes singing competitions or that good old-fashioned game, “Hide the Dildo” — it actually involves alcohol and the consumption of drinks colored in accordance with the colors of the rainbow, followed by a “Pot of Gold” shot.  Perhaps your staff could play and in addition to the shot at the end, you could dress Chuy up like a leprechaun, cover him with crisco and have him run around the set — the first staffer to catch him wins.  I’d put my money on Guy.  He seems like he might have experience wrestling with heavily lubricated men.

Anyway, I chose not to participate in this rainbow challenge.  I was in the mood to get hammered and didn’t want anything to come between me and my booze.  Sure, some nights I enjoy spicing my drunkenness up a little with some drinking games, but not last night.  I wanted to skip straight to schwasted. 

While she was consuming purple, my frienemy Margaret looked across the table at me, called me a pussy, and asked me why I wasn’t participating in the rainbow challenge.  I looked at her and told her that everyday of my life is a rainbow challenge and that if she wanted to experience a true rainbow challenge, she should try living the life of a homosexual.  

The end.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I was at my favorite local bar the other night when my eyes fell upon a most wondrous surprise — a little person!

My friends suggested I hoist that adorable nugget over my head for a picture, but I figured all of his frat-tastic friends would have opposed.  Instead, I admired that lilliputian lad from across the bar.

As I was watching the little fellow, I was thinking about how fiscally advantageous it might be to be a little person.  While average sized people like you and I might need, say, half a bottle of vodka or a 12-pack of PBR to get drunk, I bet this little nugget could get hammered from a shot.  

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

You’ve inspired me; I’m going to create my own sex tape.  It worked wonders for you.  If I ever get my own talk show, my assistant will be a giant Ukrainian woman named Oksana.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I’m guessing you won’t be traveling to Arizona with Chuy anytime soon.

Womp.

Ronnie