Saturday, May 16, 2009


Dear Sirs,

I've been reading the literature you produce for some time now and I feel the time has come to address a few issues I have with it. I am not by nature a bellicose individual but your web log has broken through my gentle spirit and given me a case of the sour waters. I am a man who finds himself often afflicted with a variety gastric distresses. Your foolish rambling and crimes against sentence structure only serve to aggravate an already delicate equilibrium of colonic upwellings and vaporous surges. You manage to summon from me the most mournful, sonorous farts ever witnessed by myself or my fellow public library patrons. In my 37 years as an assistant crutch assembler for the Knights Of Columbus I have never had to subject my underlings to such powerful gaseous outpourings. I can hardly find the appetite for my deviled eggs and medicinal cabbage water any more. Only yesterday I was stuck on stalled subway car so I decided to partake of my lunch of prune reduction, duck bisque, and sardines sandwiches, when my mind turned to your last post. It upset me so much that my subsequent bottom bossa nova caused a poor prostitute to faint, and an elderly man to vomit up his breakfast stew. It lasted nearly 45 seconds and a small man whom I had inadvertently pinned against the sliding door had to be lead away by caring hands and placed into a doctor's care. Much of my modest income is taken up by the various wrappings, cummerbunds, and foundation garments that my various internal concerns demand. My hips, thighs, and each buttock necessitate several swaddling procedures and your foolish twaddle puts me back to square one every time. If I didn't take the time between dressings to have some buttermilk and onions with a slice of black pudding, then I don't think I could cope. In conclusion Sir, your blog is utter drizzles, and it's giving me the shits something cruel, so stop it.


Latimore DeBounce

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