Wednesday, August 25, 2004

An Open Letter to L Magazine 

First of all, fuck you. I found a copy of your tiny little magazine in a bar I passed on the way to getting drunk last night. I tried to read it but it was soaking wet and smelled like whiskey. But that wasn’t really your fault, I guess, since it was my whiskey that I spit out laughing at this. Here’s the problem. So you did this whole summer issue thing and didn’t even bother to ask me to write anything for it. I’m thinking I would have been good for the whole "Caustic" thing about whether New York is swell or sucky in the summer. That little cute Mainer girl Jessy Delfino would have pulled her whole “I’m poor, have no air-conditioning, I sing and I’m really funny” bit and I would have CRUSHED her with this.

Oh, also, is Rebecca Shuman single? "Rainer Maria Rilke didn’t have so-called ‘air-conditioning’ and it didn’t stop him from writing Slaughterhouse-Five" is just about the hottest thing I’ve read in like forever. If she’s not single, does she cheat?

And another thing. Nope. That’s it. No ‘nother thing for you this time, you lucky bastards.