Here are two new items from my “Asshole Files.” They seem to be following a common trend. First off, we have, from “James Powell” at jp@yahoo.com (may or may not be a real email address).

You’re a moron, with your stupid theories and ridiculous stories. Get a
life and a job. You scallywag!

I at least enjoy that this person took the time to call me a “scallywag.” And then we have an eloquent piece from “Staces” at staces666@yahoo.com:

i just discovered a secret, wiseguy: your drawings suck! it looks like
the work of a bored sixth grader. dont quit your day-job buddy!

I actually really like the suggestion that my artwork looks like it was made by a sixth grader. Especially a bored sixth grader. What better kind of sixth grader is there? When I was in sixth grade, I was so bored, and I actually did spend a huge portion of my time drawing. And I’ve gotta tell you: the shit I drew in sixth grade could smoke these assholes.

You have no idea how often I hear people suggest that I “get a job / life / girlfriend.” The funny part is that I have all three, and somehow I also manage not to be a total fuck-up worthless shit like the people who spend their time emailing me nonsense.

What fucking tool can’t think up a better dis than “get a job”? What is this, the fucking 1950’s? Oh no! should I get a haircut too, and stop listening to that accursed “rock music”? As if I’ve never heard this mindless suggestion before. Real original, twats. I bet you have a fucking awesome job too. Maybe I should assistant manage a Pizza Hut with you, and we can get high in your Caprice Classic when we’re on break, complain about how our moms don’t understand us, and then go try and shoplift CD’s from Tower Records after work.

If you don’t like what I write, fine. Chances are I don’t like what you write either. But what’s the point of taking time out of your day to pen a couple sentences to try and tear me down? Whew! It’s a good thing you emailed me! I’m totally going to change my ways now. Thank god! What’s your address, so I can cut off my balls and send them to you gift-wrapped?

Obviously, I’ve touched a nerve if you’re inclined to put in all this effort to affect me personally. I’m guessing something I said fried your poor little melon, and now you’re reflexively lashing out, in order to make the cognitive dissonance you just experienced go away. Or else, maybe you’re just a prick with too much time on your hands, and you need to “go get a job.”