An Open Letter to the Little Man in my head

Dear Sir,

While I appreciate you and your team's continued perseverance to keep my biological faculties in order, and functioning enough for this Fake Rockstar to be accepted into society, I have some issues with a few of the operational choices you've made as of late. I've made a list to post on the Medulla Oblongata break room fridge:

1. There's a definite problem with the motivation drive. I've plenty to do, but seem to be making a seat on the couch in underwear and covered in tears a priority. Please run a full diagnostic ASAP... That backstabbing cleaning guy may have switched everything to "chronic depression" again.

2. I'm not sure who runs the hunger reflex, but could you stop in and see if they're sitting on the "execute" button? I eat and never seem to be full. This is causing some undue stress on the boys in blubber production, especially in the ass and gut quadrants. Please troubleshoot this situation when you have a nanosecond.

3. A similar problem seems to be happening the alcohol craving department, particularly around 3pm. Don't get me wrong, I love the drink... I just need a break from falling asleep in a drunken haze, giggling at Colbert every night.

4. The sex drive still seems to be stuck on "Dirty old man ogling from his front porch". While I do enjoy porn, I worry that I'm quite close to seeing all the Internet has to offer. This seems to worsen with age. Please investigate the possible correlation and what steps are needed to scale things back a tad.

Everything else seems to be humming along... No new obtrusive hair on the body and little hair loss on the head... And the Joke Transmitter 2600 seems to be churning out the funny nicely.

Thanks for your consideration of these concerns. I appreciate your continued cooperation.

Cheers,

Corey "Fake Rockstar" Pandolph
Cartoonist/Writer/Human Species