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As controversial as I try to be, I get remarkably little hate mail. Today, however, I got several unique hate mails that are interesting because they don't fall into the usual "excuse me but I don't understand satire or irony" category. The first one addressed my rambunctious behaviour at Warren Wilson College, and raises a few valid points:
I am a student at Warren Wilson College. I have saw your spoof page a long time ago and for some reason I have never gotten around to telling you how your own words make you seem like an absolute loser. It gives the impression of some slack rich kid living off thier parents coming in and trashing someone's home and then being surprised when that pisses the inhabitants off. Yes, when you fucked up our campus, it is WE STUDENTS who had to clean it up. Perhaps WORK is something strange to you, but we all have to do it. When you attack Jim Watson, you attack a friend. Jim is very concerned about students and a very gentle person. Most schools would have hauled your butts off campus for what you did rather than making a fair offer to let you clean up the mess that you brag about, and then try to pretend you did not cause. We are a community here and when you destroy it, you destroy our home and our family. Would you like it if some one barged into your living space and started spray painting the walls or something?
You would do yourself a favour by getting rid of that page. Even the acount that you yourself wrote makes you seem like a mean spirited, slack-ass, credit-card-punk. Hey, maybe you are, maybe you are a better person than this page makes you seem to be. Who knows.
mark
Next I got an email from Monster Boy's old girlfriend, Rebecca, who, back in February, dumped poor Monster Boy for Doug, the pompous plaintiff in the infamous Dink Boy Case. Here's the complete text of her email:
Gus,
Hmmm... I wonder who the trusted friend was who claimed I have the "personality of a rock." If Rebecca's pompous socially/emotionally/economically/chemically-challenged boyfriend, Dink Boy, is so amazingly intellectual and full of personality, I'd rather be the cream of the immature lugnuts. This sort of email begged for the following response:
yah!
sorry i am such a non-intellectual bore. your husband, doug, he's ever so much more interesting than the rest of the scruffy charlottesville underbelly. i fondly recall with what wit and whimsy he did contribute to our conversations back at Goth Central. i always felt like an intellectual midget in his presence, and that reason alone will always compel me to work in my own crude poorly-considered ways to hasten his downfall. sorry you had to get caught in the crossfire; nothing was ever aimed at you. not only are you a beautiful young woman (worthy for that reason alone of my tenderest considerations) but you have proven yourself to be intellectually cunning and refreshingly blunt.
the friend you lost due to my musings was surely not worthy of your company anyway. it seems doubtful that anyone who can't see through my obvious smoke, mirrors, distortion and lies would ever have much to offer you anyway.
though i'm humbled by your analysis, i'm pleased that you're still reading.
--gus
The Bodo's lunchtime line was intimidatingly long, but I have to give them credit for having perhaps the fastest line in the business. We had are food in almost no time at all.
At the Greyhound station, we hugged our goodbyes and saw the girls off into their grungy overcrowded bus. A short little navy man in his white sailor suit stood in line in front of them. I joked to Matthew that he'd be an asset should the bus go over a bridge. "Everybody stay calm! In case you haven't noticed, I am a navy man! Does anyone know where the rudder is on this thing?"
I have to admit I was the author of some racist humour on the ride home on JPA. A red haired asian girl almost stepped in front of Angela's Cadillac, and I joked to the others, "I will have kamikaze mission against you American car!" Angela said I was awful, but she was laughing so hard that I feared she'd lose control of the car.
The day was not productively spent. I went to UVA to work on my musings a second time, but could not motivate myself at all. The DXM hangover actually seemed to get worse throughout the day. So I took a nap and felt vaguely miserable.
Get a sense of what I was like exactly one year ago today.
B
ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, I passed out printouts of the above emails for the enjoyment of all. Jessika and Sara read them as their first act of the new day. We all had a good laugh, especially at the notion that, in apparent stark contrast to our limitations, Doug Dink Boy is such a scintillating companion. Or that in hate mail to me, Rebecca actually gave me credit for being the brightest of my crowd.T
oday was the day for Sara and Jessika to return to Philadelphia. First, though, we all went to Bodo's Bagels on Preston Avenue for lunch. There were seven of us, and we rode in Angela's big white Cadillac. As we passed the Haunted House, we could see that someone had hit the street out in front pretty heavy with stencil tags painted in K-Mart gloss white. One said "BAD VIBE" and another said "GAS ASS." There were also various combinations of phrases that ended "in a TERRY NUTKINS STYLEE." A particularly mysterious stencil design read "RUBADUB 9." Perhaps this was meant to include Plan 9 Steve in the apparent vitriol. But nothing specifically singled out Tyler. We later learned that Tyler thought it was all rather amusing, but still "immature." In my life I've gradually learned that "immature" is a meaningless criticism.P
rior to a mission to UVA, I tried in vain to find my headphones, tearing up much of the living room in the process. Perhaps the ferret stole them; ferrets are notorious for taking a liking to small personal effects and accumulating them in their "hidey holes" (a term that Sara Poiron loathes but for which there is no synonym). Deya showed me a foam rubber hose that we'd lately been using as a casual coffee-table toy (accoustic telephone, cat terrorizer, etc.). It had somehow found its way behind the couch to near the steam radiator, where the ferret has been constructing a hidey hole. She'd chewed up the hose almost completely.