Readers E-Mail

02/25/2001 11:56:00 PM Pacific Standard Time

Motivated By Rage,

I recieved this e-mail from a friend of mine. I thought you guys would get a kick out of it:

Dave,

I have been thinking about it and I don't think I want my poems on the motivated by rage site..i read one poem on that sight and it made my stomach hurt..it was the one about "death do us part" my poems might be dark but I still don't think they fit exactly with that site...thank you

for offering though that means a lot...I'm sorry....I should have told you earlier.

12/29/2000 09:17:00 PM Pacific Standard Time

Dear Motivated By Rage,

Some people may consider me a bore because I live comfortably inside of the confines of law and morality, but last week I nearly pulled a Patrick Bateman chainsaw-fest that would have seriously damaged my respectability. What tripped my alarm is this a-hole named Gary, who happens to be our Monday night security guard at the theatre. Besides the fact that he couldn't protect a warm cup of piss, Gary stands about five-feet tall, has a Mr. Punyverse physique, and possesses a voice so annoying that just hearing a single syllable could drive a man to watch Meg Ryan movies.

What really puts the icing on the top of this fucking cake is that Gary has a penchant for singing. Now I'm not talking about the soothing vocal stylings of Sinatra here, but the balls-in-a-vice, Henrietta-in-the-fruit-cellar, breast-exam-on-channel-nine sort of singing. If given a choice, I would rather eat the asshole out of a dead goat than have to be subjected to Gary's rendition of "The Wind Beneath My Wings"... which is EXACTLY what occurred last week.

There I was sitting in the box counting the safe when I heard THAT VOICE outside the window, face pressed close against the glass, lips pressed against the speaker as Gary began to serenade me with "Wind Beneath My Wings."

It was right at that moment when I began to mentally review every single kill in the "Friday the 13TH" series, attempting to pick the best one to use on Gary. Would I cleave him in half with an axe? Or would I throw him into a sleeping bag and repeatedly smash his torso against the trunk of a large tree? The possibilities seemed endless at the time.

But the 7TH level of Hell had yet to be reached. For as bad as I thought things were, it was about to get a whole lot worse. Just as Gary's crooning of "Wind Beneath My Wings" finished, another, even more horrifying tune was comin' around the bend.

At first I didn't believe my ears. It wasn't possible, was it? Could a grown man actually think of singing the theme song to "Gilligan's Island" to another man? Unfortunately, that answer is... yes.

I've never in my life prayed for an appearance of the Blair Witch, but I did that night. I was hoping to walk outside and find a large chunk of Gary's shirt laying on the ground, his tongue and teeth wrapped neatly inside like the world's messiest Christmas gift. Alas, it was not in the cards.

I'm doing better now. I can sleep again, although I'm still struggling to hold down solid foods. The mere thought of Gary makes me explode from both ends...

Sincerely,

A very disgruntled human being