Strongly Worded Letter to Smiling Fox (p. 16)

Strongly Worded Letter to Smiling Fox
Vincent Saint-Simon

Dear Sir, Madam, or any combination therein:

I find upon your character a mark as revolting as Ms. S’s genital warts and almost as strong of scent, and if you will permit an explanation I will willingly give it in about the next paragraph or so. I see now that you are a man of the strongest indifference and boorishness, an oaf of the highest variety, and, on top of these qualities, you happen to display a stubbornness far above the average in two to five year old idiots and general-class fools. That you, in haste and with (I might add) language a chimp could comprehend, antagonize me to condescend to you a letter against your baseless and churlish pseudo-thesis only reiterates for me the notion that you are of the most simple class of what are loosely (and benevolently) referred to as human beings, if in fact we can have a clique of humanity that requires no indication of Reason to enter. I also posit that you find yourself in the most depraved and ridiculous of company since you exhibit the rationality of Ms. V on a hunger binge and the mental capacity of Ms. E after watching season two of The OC. Not that you would mind, since you seem to like that vapid show, and I have to admit you should since it suits your disposition so well. That you would even consider infringing upon my well being to make yourself feel like a Fulfilled Person (a title which you have never earned) makes you susceptible to the same hubris and fallacious logic that I find in your peer Mr. A; that is to say your disorganized attempts to rape my good name only lead to you looking all the more rude and unskilled, while your name (which could only laughingly be considered "fair" before) swiftly becomes something only urchins and bawdy street-tongue-laden Queens deign to converse of. Please, I beg you, go back to reading your Dan Brown novels and listening to your coveted Switchfoot CD's before you hurt yourself or those you have caused too much pain to already by your mere and ribald existence.

I believe you forget yourself, Thing.

Ever Yours,

Vincent