You have presented my Facebook friends with certain notions, purportedly written by me, threatening to make my voice fraudulent and dubious.
It is my understanding that the man with the scythe is about to mow you under; syphilis left unchecked can leave a hefty mark. I also understand that you have two children whom you’ve never loved and do not want. You should have pulled out, just like your father. Under normal circumstances I would regard yours a tragic situation. But having witnessed the vile means by which you scratch to make a living, let me speak for the world at large and say at once that your departure is everybody’s good fortune.
You can’t redeem yourself… in any way. I suggest you concentrate on the business of putting your idiotic soul in order these last days before you leave a world that sighs with relief at your termination. I wish I could honestly say that I hate to see you go, but for the rest of us it will be a sort of cleansing euthanasia. I wish too that, like myself, you could endow posterity with something like a monument to your days upon this earth. But since this is so obviously impossible, let me urge you to be without bitterness in your final days. Destiny has indeed been unkind to you. Like the rest of the world, I suppose you too are glad that in a short time all will be finished, and the pixelated ink stains you’ve spattered all over cyberspace will never be examined from a larger view. You are a maggot. I speak for all sensible, civilized men and women when I urge you to burn every record of your existence and thereafter stay away from keyboards and flat-screens. If you own a camera, the same holds true, because even taking a photo of yourself in a mirror would disgrace humanity. If, however, you persist in your pitiful exploit of falsifying my identity in order to mislead and hoodwink others, then by all means, come to my house and introduce yourself. At this point I find you at least amusing. Not deliberately, of course.
Signed,
Fuck Off
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