You know, I tried like hell to keep my nose clean. I had no intentions of ever posting here on PIC again. I'm busy. I flushed my cocaine. I carry a kerchief in my lapel's hidden pocket. But, alas, like the creepy kid in kindergarten you had to hold hands with when you went on field trips to the zoo or whatever, my nose is running violently right now. And it's all over my hands. My big, sweaty, snotty hands. And all there is now, is this vague, desirous contempt. It's making my fingers go. Look at me! Look at me type!
Ahhhh…. What the fuck am I talking about? Well, I got this email in response to an old article I wrote about WVU's homecoming. And because I think this is time to say goodbye, I'm going to make it quick.
Goodbye.
But before we begin (heh)…I'd like you to keep in mind that the woman writing this letter is a candidate's mother. However, it is a candidate from this year, not last year…when I fucking wrote the thing. I feel as though I have to respond to this. Do I? I mean, do I have the JUR-IS-DICTION.
Well, I got the dic and I got the diction, so apparently, I'm two up on this bitch. Let's go.
Dear NG;
I am the mother of (homecoming queen nominee) and I could not be more swollen with pride… my daughter worked hard…but she did not have to coil anyone to do it. Sounds to me [by reading your articles] you have a lot of umbrage you might want to consider analysis.
Dear Mom;
My diminutive third leg? You can't be like, “Oh that guy's dick is small, so I'll call it a…I don't know…small BEHEMOTH.” First of all, you're totally right. I do have a lot of umbrage. There are tons of large, shade-providing trees above my head right now. It's quite pleasant under all of this fucking shady umbrage. I will consider analysis of these trees, too, because Al Gore says that studying the carbon dioxide at varying canopy layers allows us to understand global warming better.
But what I'm more interested in is the term you used…”coil” I believe. I mean, forgive my horrid ignorance in this matter, but you may have to specify. As far as I know, the infinitive “to coil” means also “to wind something into loops” or “to curve or bend.” Given the context and reference to my sexual article from last year, I can only estimate that you mean your daughter “coiled” her tongue down the shafts of student body penises in order to get their vote. Then again, you could mean the opposite—that she did not have to “bend” or “curve” anyone to do it. In fact, you could possible mean that your daughter laid prostrate and completely unmoving as she allowed many students to fuck her naked body. Care to elaborate?
You haven't an indication what an [candidate's sorority's] put my daughter through; they painted slut all over her car; they removed her signs; vandalized her apartment and slashed her tires. They called her and text messaged her all hours of the night; they basically harassed her.
You, Mom, are the queen of understatement! Ah-whooo! Haha! Believe it or not, when I was in high school, I actually had a lot of these things happen to me too. Except, when I was running for homecoming queen, my opponents stole my car, chopped off my clitoris, and killed my dog after feasting on its pumping organs. They basically irked me. A little.
She never complained, she took the high road [something you do not know the meaning of], and your article tried to put her in a bad light
Well, that's really nice. She never complained. To be fair, Mom, I know exactly what the high road is. First of all, I drive. Second of all, I smoke a fucking COLLASAL TON OF WEED.
However, there is the issue of me “trying to put your daughter in a bad light.” I suppose the problem with this is, I never mentioned your daughter. In fact, until just now, when I received your email, I did not have the slightest clue, the smallest fucking intimation, that your daughter was running for homecoming queen, or to be quite frank, even fucking existed. So, if you're looking for her to get more attention that she deserves (again), well you did a pretty good job.
Yes, I am certain a man with a diminutive third leg and his face exposed with a staid skin condition might say boo hoo!
Now, you know how I know you're using a thesaurus for this email, Mom? It wasn't all of the egregious errors before it combined (though it probably should've been). It's “staid.” Staid? Really? Staid? My skin condition is demure? It's sedate? Grave? Stolid? That doesn't make any fucking sense, Mom. You know what I think? I think you looked in your little Roget's for “serious” and picked a word at random. That's just careless, Mom.
And then, there's your ability at the insult. Oh Christ, do you really want me to get into that? My diminutive third leg? It just doesn't work like that, Mommy. You can't be like, “Oh that guy's dick is small, so I'll call it a…I don't know…small BEHEMOTH.” If it's a third leg, it's a THIRD LEG, baby. And trust me, it's A THIRD LEG.
Why not write something beneficial; show your intelligence if you have a little; if not try to get an education while you are here…
The funniest thing about shots to my intelligence…they always come from the most fatuous of sources. I mean dumb. I'm sorry Mom, you might not have your fucking Roget's handy. Fatuous means that you show a lack of intelligence. As for my intelligence, I graduated Summa Cum Laude. How's your little girl doing? She “coiling” her professors enough for a C- in her comm. class? Yeah, blow it out your fat, 48-year-old asshole.
This article [all your articles] will be sent to your hometown for your family and friends to see. In addition, I am contacting WVU ethics committee you need to be replaced and immensely “committed”.
By now, don't you think that somebody would've gone to the ethics committee? I'm great fucking friends with the guy there. It's like we're “committed.” Seriously, why the quotation marks?
Hmm…hmm…. That reminds me of something…”Committed”…. Hmmmm…. Is that the relationship stage? You know the kind an angry mob says to your daughter before she's gang fucked?
“Hey girl, yeah yeah we're all committed to this.” And I'm sure they are….
But seriously, my friends and family know about this, too, you dumb whore. My dad asked me once, “Hey is that you writing on the internet about all those horny homecoming sluts?” I told him “yes” and he was impressed. I'm sure you couldn't understand the art of comedy. But I guess, who could, having shards of broken glass in her vagina. Poor, poor thing.
You see NG, there is free speech I agree with you on that, but there is a law against `Bullying” “Slander” and Liable”!….
Liable? Liable? Hmm…what?
Ohhhhhhhhhhh………… You mean libel. God DAMNIT.
The homecoming event was awe-inspiring for us all who can appreciate gorgeous people and find decency in this corrupt world and it is because of reckless people like you.
You know what? You're right. There should be more people like you out there, appreciating “gorgeous people.” I don't think gorgeous people really do get enough appreciation. In this world, so obsessed with the trivial things like… talent… intelligence… the correct usage of the word “umbrage” or “staid”…there really aren't enough people out there fucking appreciating THE GORGEOUS PEOPLE. And in this “corrupt world” with all the “reckless people” like me, to boot. Shucks. How do all the fucking pretty girls handle it? I bet it's because of women like you, who stand up for what's gosh-darned moral in society. Who are the bread and butter—nay, the beacon—of moral fortitude. Who email threats to satire writers in hopes of intimidating them! Christ, you really are a saint!
I love my daughter; I am so very proud of her, she is a beautiful and a wonderful human being and for you to demean her efforts makes my appetite ailing to know you are in the human race. I feel repentant for the woman who labored for your life… I cried when read your article, how could anyone be so denote my daughter when I know what a high-quality and extraordinary person is to us.
(Name of Mother-whore)
You know, that's fine. You love your daughter. She may be an extraordinary person, contrary to her gene pool. But you know what else? I love the woman who labored for my life. And for you to bring up my momma, well, that's not nice. Believe it or not, Mom, there are women out there who I respect more than myself, and she's one of them. So when you feel “repentant” for her, it boils my fucking blood. And though you may be a mother, yourself, you have no right to associate yourself with Mrs. Hatfield. My mother isn't like you, don't feel sorry for her. She knows the difference between “libel” and “liable.” She knows that “denote” needs a modifier. (What the fuck did I denote?) In short, my mother isn't the dumb, loud-mouth bitch that you are. If she knew you—or cared enough to know you—she'd feel sorry for you. Don't doubt that, bitch.
So, in closing, I'm glad you cried when you read my article. In fact, that's what I was always intending in the three years I wrote for this website. I was trying to maximize the shedding of needless tears. So, next time, if you could catch yours in a shot glass and Fedex them to me, I'd love to have a swig. I power my orgies on the tears of old whores who have nothing better to do with their time than read internet articles and take them seriously.
Luckily for you, this is my last internet column. Feel free to remember my name, though. I'll give you a free copy of my novel or something.
Thanks for reading,
NG Hatfield