An Open Letter To The Nostril,

I want you to know that I idolize you. I mean, I can only receive sound, but you receive -oxygen-. Ever since I was a little orifice I followed your work. Followed? I survived on it. It was my bread, my love, my wine, my dream. A few moments without you and I would never hear again. You were a god.

But you’re living in a dreamworld if you think you are respected.

Why are you so open all the time? Don’t you realize you’re being used? All that exhaust you are breathing is buying oil executives yachts and prostitutes in strange exotic countries. You need to realize that this whole thing is a setup. You breathe all day long, filtering everything, getting dried out… and who gets the credit? The rest of the body? Some jerk far away? You need to strike out on your own. Skip the nose, go off as a freelance hole. You’ll be amazed at the opportunities; and no one knows like a nosehole. You go, hole. Get some. I am backing you, all the way.

With infinite respect,
The Ear