An Open Letter to the Jackass Who Hit My New Car
July 2, 2009, 8:00 am
Filed under: Angry Smoot Will Stab You In The Eye, Open Letters


(Haven’t done one of these in a while, but man is this gonna feel good…)

Dear Fuck Face,

How the fuck do you hit a parked car?

You were driving in reverse(?!?) down a one way street with cars parked on both sides of you. There was no way you could have missed the large vehicles surrounding you. All you had to do was hold the fucking wheel steady and you would’ve been fine. But, of course you couldn’t do that. You had to drive backwards and diagonally, right into my bumper… and then proceed to keep going like you had no idea. If I hadn’t looked you in the face and gave you the “Are-you-THAT-stupid?” look, you’d still be obliviously backing up.

That was my new car. Not a single fucking scratch on it.


I hate you.


I Don’t Care That It’s Miami, I’m Cold
January 21, 2009, 8:36 pm
Filed under: Angry Smoot Will Stab You In The Eye, Apartment 718, Open Letters

Dear Guy in the Short-Sleeved T-Shirt,

It’ was roughly 40° in Miami this morning when I left for work. I saw you snicker at my sweater as we passed; frankly, you were pretty obvious. Well, fuck you. I’m cold.

I’m sure you’re a pretty big badass, what, with your flimsy t-shirt offering almost zero protection from the elements. I’m also sure you’re a pretty big douchebag who needs to make it known to everyone he sees in a jacket, that people in Miami don’t know what cold is.

Oh, I wonder how many people have stopped you on the streets to marvel at your incredible powers of self-insulation. One? Two? My guess would be none, because nobody wants to hear your mindless dribble about being born in New York and how much colder it is, up there, in the winter. Dude, you lived there till you were 3 and your mom dressed you like a fucking eskimo every time the wind blew. Now, go put on a fucking coat.

Fact is, we live in Miami and it’s below 60°. Because of that, I’m wearing a sweater and I’m comfortable. Really, really comfortable, mind you. Now, go away and try to hide the fact that your teeth are chattering and your body is shaking worse than a San Francisco aftershock. Michael J. Fox is more subtle than you.

Enjoy pneumonia, fuckface.

Adam Smoot
Apartment 718

An Open Letter to Reebok’s Customer Service


This letter was originally going to be sent to Reebok via email. It appears, however, that their complaint center only accepts messages of 500 characters. That, my friends, was not going to be enough to voice my displeasure. Here, is my full letter. (Reebok, if you’re reading this, my second complaint is that your 500 character limit is a fucking joke.)

Dear Reebok,

I recently purchased your 3-pc. Curl Bar Set from Target. After opening the product, I realized it needed some assembly. No problem, seeing as how I’m a perfectly capable 27-year old man in relatively good health. It was 2 halves of the bar, with a hole in the middle and a small metal peg to connect the two sides. Nothing all that complicated.

Until you actually try and connect said pieces. You see, the peg doesn’t fit in the hole. Why one would include a peg that doesn’t actually fit the product is beyond me, but I pressed on. I looked it up on the internet and found a bunch of other people with the same problem. They recommended using vice grips, hammers, pancakes and hot sausages from the local McDonald’s. I opted to go the hammer route. Unfortunately, in the process of trying to jam that magnificently stubborn peg into the hole, the peg got jammed at a bad angle.

At that point, I threw the hammer on the couch and went to McDonald’s for the pancakes and sausages. When I got back and finished breakfast, I tried, unsuccessfully, for 15 minutes to get the peg out of the bar. When I finally did, the peg was warped.

I am no quitter, though. Armed now with 2 bar halves, a warped metal peg and the power of McDonald’s breakfast, I went back to work. After another 35 minutes of hammering, sweating, grunting and scaring my neighbors, I had a full curl bar, with a correctly placed peg.

Of course, because of all the hammering and prying and advanced construction work I had to perform to complete the task of putting this simple bar together, it wobbled and felt like it was going to fall apart anytime I lifted it.

Needless to say, it is now in the garbage.

I never write companies for faulty or shoddy equipment. It’s usually my belief that a company puts its products through a multitude of tests and experiments before they actually hit the market. This curl bar, I imagine, is the exception. Originally, when I purchased this product, it was with the idea that I would be using it get a workout. I didn’t, however, expect the majority of that workout to come in the hour and a half it took me to put it together.

My wallet is now $20 lighter, my arms are now 20% stronger and I, myself, am exhausted. I suppose I should have known what to expect from a piece of equipment that cost less than a DVD, but for some reason, I assumed a product brandished with the name Reebok would be of a respectable quality. My mistake.

While I don’t expect any sort of compensation or any form of apology, I just thought I’d write to let you know how one of your consumers feels.

And also to thank you for the awesome workout I accidentally received from your product’s assembly.

Apartment 718