Dear Wannadoo City:

Dear Wannadoo City:

First: I hate your name. A lot. And I hate that I always have to hear about it at work, because everyone's sticky children love to go there. When I think about it, it sounds like a kid telling me he has to take a shit. I hate your name.

Second: I hate your song. "Wannadoo ciiiityyyy, where kids can do what they wannadoo!"

Sick.

Third: That commercial you have out now? With that five-year-old who needs Speech Therapy? Who's bugging his mom about being an astronaut, and a firefighter and God knows what other cliche'd "big-boy" career the little fag wants to be at Wannadoo city...? You know that one? Where he lisps and mispronounces words for thirty seconds and I don't understand his garbled retard speech? You know that commercial?

I fucking hate it. It's the most annoying thing I've ever seen in my life. Seriously. I hate that kid. Where does he live? I want to rent a room at the Lowes and throw him out the window (ooh, bad taste!)

I've never had a commercial make me homicidal before, but that one does. Especially with his dumb bleach-blonde, bad-nosejob Weston mom, putting away glasses in their granite-countered kitchen, with her orange tan and her early 90s length hair-band groupie hair with poofy bangs.

UGH. SERIOUSLY. STOP ADVERTISING. YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME BURN WANNADOO CITY DOWN. Or at least murder that kid, and kill whatever casting director was like "You. You are perfect for for this commercial! Even though NO ONE CAN UNDERSTAND YOU! It's adorable!"

Um. Like... where's Dakota Fanning and her ilk? Those Welch's Grape Juice Kids? They'd be adorable in your low-budget commercial. For God's sake, get little Guillermo Martinez-Fraga off the commerical. I hate the little bastard.