Dear Sir
You, Mr. L----, are the offspring of an unnatural union between a syphilitic jackal and Nancy Reagan. The overwhelming pungency of your personal aroma can be considered, in a sense, a boon, as it encourages people to remain at a distance that reduces the chance of epileptic fits and hysterical weeping when confronted with the appalling spectacle that is your face. Your sexual taste for waterfowl and household appliances is, I suppose, your own business, but your ability to be consistently rejected by members of both groups is worthy of note by conisseurs of the epically pathetic. The manual dexterity that allowed you to find the "forward" button on your copy of Eudora for Windows precious moments beford short- circuiting your keyboard with drool is conspicuously absent when you endeavor to dress yourself; though I must concede that such efforts are immeasureably preferable to the spectacle of your grotesque physique, appalling posture, and unsavory complexion unclothed. You are a philosophical conundrum, Mr. L----. Those thinkers who believed in the blessedness of fools and madmen had obviously never encountered you. On the other hand, it is uncertain whether, upon considering you, one should despair of a species that could produce such a specimen as yourself, or glory in the immense gulf between you and the oft-maligned common man. In conclusion, Mr. L----, please be so kind as to refrain from providing me with any further commercial solicitations, top-ten lists, cookie recipies, virus warnings, or any other globs of recycled electronic phlegm; no matter how urgent, hilarious, lucrative. or tasty they may appear to your malformed little mind. Yours Cordially, Sebbo
Yes, I really did send that to someone on a mailing list once. No reply though, more's the pity.
