"Dear Sarahhepola.com,
Don't get me wrong -- I like your little stories and whatnot. It's just that recently, you've been a little, umm, cryptic. Let me be frank, Sarahhepola.com. Half the time, I don't know what you are talking about. Like your subtitles and stuff don't make sense. Like they're really McSweeney's, but McSweeney's isn't even doing that McSweeney's stuff these days. Why don't you write about people pooping in the street anymore? I liked that better.

Signed,
Grumpy Reader"

Dear Grumpy Reader,
Please know that our aim at Sarahhepola.com is not to be "cryptic." Our aim at Sarahhepola.com is to be "brilliant" and "superfoxy." If we were cryptic, well, it's only because we've been kind of confused and sorta depressed lately. Also because we started two long-ass entries that we really wanted to post but then we locked our keys in our car (where is our head, Sarahhepola.com?) and couldn't finish in time and slapped that last sucker together just to have something. Anyway, we will try to be a little more above-board in the future. We know we're not really all Hemingway and shit.

"Dear Sarahhepola.com,
So what's the deal with this job? Who are these kids you are working with? And does this baby really not have a brain? How is that possible?

Signed,
David Snyder

P.S. Sarah, the email I sent you was much funnier than this. How come you make me sound so lame?"

Dear David,
These are good questions, my friend. Sarahhepola.com is working for the next two or three months at a foster home for children with AIDS, and since we're sure we will write a great deal about the place, we won't wax poetic right now. The little baby without a brain is the subject of at least one as-yet-unfinished entry. He is amazing. And David, we don't know how it's possible either. Even the nurses seem confused, because the little baby is adorable, with big blind eyes and a heart-shaped mouth that makes sucking motions and fat cheeks that are shiny and squeaky like a rubber ball. With the exception of his head, which is a bit deformed, he looks like a normal baby. This tricks us into thinking that he is normal, and believing that he sees and feels and connects with us, and that one day he will play hide-and-seek and eat mud pies and come home late for dinner carrying a dead squirrel as a present. Then yesterday, he seizured for three minutes, and that made everyone very sad and scared.
As for why we rather uncreatively paraphrased your original letter, it is because we are the star and we want to keep it that way.

Dear Sarahhepola.com,
Who the hell is David Snyder? See, this is the cryptic shit I'm talking about.

Signed,
Grumpy Reader

Dear Grumpy,
David is an old, dear friend and a journalist at The Washington Post. We don't normally mention people by their names, because it often feels too personal or clique-ish, but it just struck us that David might be tickled if we used his real name. We like tickling people. However, Grumpy's letter reminds us that last night, we went to see a stupendous show at the Hole in the Wall called "Cranky." In this show, an old man with a banjo sings hillbilly songs like "Big Rock Candy Mountain" as someone turns the crank on a big paper scroll the old man drew to illustrate the songs. Oh it's hard to explain, but let me just say that it renewed my faith in Austin. Oh wait, one more thing, and then we have to take out the trash so the whole place doesn't keep smelling like last night's Whataburger. We want to mention to the out-of-towners that Hole in the Wall might be closing. We think the owners want to turn it into a bank. This is sad news. Sure, we almost never went to Hole in the Wall. In fact, we would probably think of 10 or 15 other places we'd rather go first, but we have fond memories of the place. We don't want it to be a bank, for Chrissakes. And plus, we just reconnected with the Hole in the Wall last night at the Cranky show. Man, that show rocked.

Got more letters? Bring 'em on.