EATING HUMBLE PIE
OK, sorry. We got our facts wrong in a review of a video game that the whole world forgot five minutes ago. You’ve got us.
LOVE IT OR LUMP IT?
You’re saying it in a way too shitty and belligerent way, but we sort of agree with you. We were more interested in the whos and hows of going AWOL than in trying to say we’re big fans of the practice. Still, fuck you.
Damn, there was the burn we were just looking for after that last letter. Thanks, Tara.
So wait, this is confusing. Does that make us the industrial-wasteland glaze-eyed set, or the world of the dying statue it’s time for you to go back to? Or maybe the dying-statue world is where we all return to when we’ve finished steeping in the American teacup, except for the steel-painted people? If you could drop a hint, it would really help. It’s been a long time since we’ve had to translate anything from high-school-Kerouac-fan-trying-to-get-laid into English and we’re a little rusty.
Also, please post a video of yourself reading this letter aloud on YouTube and send us the link. Please, please, please.
THE NAIL IN THE COFFIN
Wait, is this Denny from the last letter again, just with a new fake name? If not, you guys should hook up and start a literary magazine. You can call it the Misguided, Lazy, Wet Fart Review. Between Denny’s “humbucking daffies with daisy-chain, nubile ghost-waifs” and your “horrid branch-lings that grow and stretch upward but soon feel weak and fall to ash,” it could be the most unintentionally readable thing ever.
The author responds: “Nope. It was woot.”
AND THE WICHITA LINEMAN IS STILL ON THE LINE
If you’re ripping on us with some Thetan level-8 sarcasm there, fair enough. If you’re not, and this is really what you’re like, then here is our advice: Don’t change! Fuck New York, fuck us, fuck music. Stay there in Wichita and pretend it’s 1993. You’ll be way happier.
All the Sad Young Literary Men