Soliciting Hate Mail

Do you wanna spit, rant and howl? Do you wanna scorch, roast or eviscerate? My kingdom is your kingdom.

I’m way behind on everything that takes time or effort today. I should write people back, and write something thoughtful here, and write an article that’s been on the back burner for three weeks, but I’ve just written my fingers off on another site, and I’m going to go play in the sand now. So nyaa.

I was thinking it would be fun to start a hate-mail thread, though. I love reading hate-mail. Unless it’s someone I like who turns out to hate my freakin’ guts. That’s always a bit of a bummer.

So if you’re bored, or tremendously angry/imaginative with no outlet, you can leave your hate mail here on this post and I’ll comb through it with the voyeuristic delight of a reclusive panty-sniffer dumped unceremoniously in a girl’s dormitory on laundry day.

If you need a target to hurl your rancor forth upon, here are some possible options.

Your ex
Your government
My government
Whomever designed c.d. wrappers
The last person you had to deal with at the d.m.v
Your spouses’ ex
Whomever wrote the script for Van Helsing
People with high metabolisms
Fox “News”

That should get the angry juices flowing. Take your time. Negative vibes need careful nurturing. You can direct your foul-mouthed hatred at me if you like, but make it imaginative or I might creatively edit.

That could be fun, too.

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8 thoughts on “Soliciting Hate Mail

  1. In hating people with high metabolisms, I must pick myself. I’m terrible. Look at this odious sin: you wrote something asking for hate mail and you explicitly asked for the hate mail to be posted here and I didn’t read this post until after posting my own post about being offended. Clearly this is evidence of a high metabolism and not only shows that I can eat vast amounts of chocolate without gaining a pound but I start twitching and doing things like posting before checking whether I should be following any instructions. Hideous and most heinous!

    I haven’t even once clicked on that popular blog. I do like “Strange Maps” though.

  2. To Whom It May Concern,

    I have absolutely HAD IT with your crap. Yeah, that’s right, you know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Ok, fine. I gotta spell it out for you? It is your insistence on having the host of your reality show unnecessarily draw out the “your eliminated” moment. It is stupid. It is useless, it makes me yell at the television.

    Host: Ok George, you’ve come this far. Will you go farther? I have the answer, here in my hand. America voted George. They went online to our website to vote, they texted the word ‘vote’ to our hotline (premium charges apply), and they called our 800 number. The votes were counted. Some contestants will remain and some will go. Which will it be for you, George? The answer is… I have to tell you… you are going to have to say goodbye… to your family visiting tonight because THEY are going home… and you are going home too… but not tonight! Because the flight leaves tomorrow… FOR THE NEXT ROUND OF COMPETITION!

    George: So… am I eliminated?

    Host: FIND OUT AFTER THIS BRIEF MESSAGE!

    I hate you so much. I hate what you are doing. I hate that I have to roll my eyes for five straight minutes while you try and think up a new way to mislead the audience and the contestants. I hate that you don’t have any real drama in your show so you have to manufacture it straight from your ass.

    Sincerely,

    Slothoby

  3. I came here with a good rant against those who drive LOUD motorcycles through the middle of town just to hear their own roar, but I lost it after reading Slothboy’s letter. I agree, but it made me laugh.

    I have a hard time bringing out the hate after someone makes me laugh.

  4. Dear Tyra Banks:

    I hate you. The pirate look you tried on the last season of Top Model was an insult to the noble fraternity of pirates and those that love them. Perhaps you will be eaten by your own gigantic ego, or assaulted by real pirates with rusty cutlasses, driving Cutlasses. That would make me happy.

    Regards,
    Angry Fan

    Thank you, I feel much better.

  5. $330 worth of ticket. My wife drops me off on Broadway at the 12th street BART station in Oakland, on her way to work. OK, we both go to work to pay our mortgages and bills and effin’ taxes and you know what they do? The dickheads whose salaries we pay with our taxbucks? They claim she stopped and I jumped out in a red zone (we ha stopped at a redlight, people were in the crosswalk, and I joined them) and some $#& camera musta took a picture of us and they claim we had expired tags and we didn’t and still do not — GRRR

    so I copied our vehicle registration to show the tags were current and wrote a note saying we weren’t at the curb so lay off the $330 ticket and mailed it off and they wrote back to say appeal denied. Kissmyass, BARTflunkiecameraboy.

    All the curbs are red except the ones closest to where we were! Where the hell are you supposed to drop someone off at 12th and Broadway, you SOBs?! My freakin tax dollars at work — damn BART outsources this crap to some outfit in Irvine CA (SoCal) that pays a flunkie to write “appeal denied” and tell us we have to pay the ticket first before they will let us appeal in person.

    Forthiswegetouttabedinthemorningandgodoourgawdamnjobs???

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