Jeremi B. Handrinos9 Aug 2003

You started the coversation earlier today with what I imagine was your response to this piece "Inet. mag. editors R jealous red haired Jews, oh and I'm 29" Correct? Correct, because, the poem above says nothing about what we are and were debating, so you were at that one first (I-net mag etc.) then you came over to this one to give me your speel. How the fuck does an internet magazine editor being exposed as a trite cunt by me garner so much defending by you? Exactly, you are either her, in Cahoots, or just a prick, just admit it. That goes around pushing his same two fucking cents on everyone talk about on and on and on, at least I make an effort to 'edit' young poets and toss the worthless and build up the good ones. You shit on everything, even the innocent, strangers, whoever, with your pretentious snippets of divine mid west frat boy rhetoric. Look at yourself, take a good fucking look at what you said to me without even the common descency of wearing a condom on that nose of yours, heroin, pot, molestation, domestic abuse, tear down my wife my life my son my work why dick dead? Why all the fuss. How are you connected to the I net editor donation fund? Did I say major magazine editors or publishing houses? Why do you care about my opinion so much. If I am such a blow hard, huh motherfucker? The way I cuss or talk? Fuck you, I talk this why to you, because I can, and if I was standing front of you guess what? It would include spittle and emphasis because I think YOU ARE FULL OF BULLSHIT why do you need to consistintly cock strut your PHD in blowing harder for me? To impress me, maybe Z, or GW, or Mrs. Peabody (lol) or the newbies, maybe you, but surely you must know that I KNOW your kind friend, and you hardly impress me with any of your antics or charades in the mudane pathology of a serial spoiled momma's boy self loathing loser with a bachelors of projection and a masters in over exposer, and front lawn shitting complete with paw on grass flick. Lordy, you must think I've never read William Irish? Or English detective novels growing up? You are a sham, a self righteous sham motherfucker. That can't seem to get it through his fucking head that no matter how hard you try I will not be your boyfriend. I shall never recieve my kiss, my jizz, or my finger, friend. Nor will I concede when I am on the side of the good rebel underdog, and you are the evil american dream gone horribly up the ass of mediocre Trader Joe's shopping for the fountain of youth and placenta free conditioner. It is you my friend that feels the need to 'prove' yourself. Not I. I know who I am, and what I can do. Here, say it with me it might help. "I know who I am, and what , and go play with your internet editor Jew friends before I give you a good lashing and no supper.