I'm just writing to tell you how much I hate you and your goddamned magazine. So what if I'm in it? I was in my 3rd grade class picture and I hated that! Come to think of it, I hated my 3rd grade class.
You people who have your own magazines make me sick. If I had my own magazine, then I would have my own magazine, but I don't, and you don't see me putting on any airs about it, do you? What is a magazine anyway except some paper with words stuck on it? Wipe the words away and you're stuck with some very rough toilet paper. Oooch!
You know what I hate most about your magazine? Well, I'll tell you. It's your sarcasm and your warped degenerate cynicism. Cynical, cynical, cynical. You hate everything! God, I hate you for that!!!
You are like a wounded bird who cannot fly! You are dirt and filth and insects!!! You are death and corruption and decay! You are destruction and ignorance, a venerable pit of darkness smothering the last ray of light and beauty and innocence, and I curse you for all eternity.
I really loved the Spring issue of Expresso Tilt -- "For people who need a miracle." Four years ago I traveled all the way to Portugal to get my miracle in the hopes that I might get cured of seeing auras! (I get a medical disability for it.) When I wasn't cured, I decided to travel to Lourdes, France. Anyway, I decided that if I got cured I'd never touch a cigarette again, but in Lourdes, after I dunked my head in the holy water and walked away and saw several evil auras, I lit up right at the shrine. Well, I'm still waiting for my miracle, but Expresso Tilt hit home because my new drug is Expresso (five cups for breakfast with four teaspoons of sugar and half-and-half). Thank you for the great inspiration.
I thoroughly understand your decision not to use the material I sent you, and I want you to know that it won't affect in the least your application for a loan. However, under the present circumstances I think it best that you no longer call upon my daughter Muffie, or try to contact her in any way. Or her little sister, Bitsy, or my son, Raoul, either, for that matter. But I do hope you success in all your future endeavors and with that little magazine of yours.
Sen. Clarence B. Hogwild, President, Bank of Hogwild
P.S. I'm turning your building into condos. Move out immediately.
Ever wondered about the Red Cross? Ever considered that this innocuous humanitarian organization has participated--actively--in every major world conflict since 1863?
The Red Cross has cells in Asia, Europe, and the American heartland. It has insinuated its way into bloody civil wars, wars of aggression, and the generic Third World wars favored by the Moral Majority. It cooperates openly with partisans, rebel groups, and Flat Earth organizations. Its leadership is often high-placed in many of the major industrial nations (including the National PTA, the DAR, and the International Order of Oddfellows). Like an epidemic of dysentery, the Red Cross springs forth wherever disasters occur (natural or man-made, muddy or in the megaton range). A social carnivore, it feeds on weakness and misery, preys on compassion. Like strep throat and vicious rumors, it is everywhere.
Why do you suppose the Red Cross is red? Like communism itself, those crimson tentacles have slithered into the very bowels of civilization. The Red Cross seeks out the vulnerable -- babes-in-arms and grandmas, Campfire Girls and bureaucrats, Yuppies and Freedom Fighters. No cause is too silly, no ideology too barbaric to deny the Red Cross access and influence. It subverts the very foundations of war (maiming and killing).
And that cross! What better guise for world domination than a symbol that conjures up the charity of Christ, the blood of His sacrifice? Is this a wolf in designer lambskins? Is the Red Cross's worldwide presence a reminder that Big Brother is alive and selling real estate in Tulsa, Oklahoma? Have we all been blind to the threat of the enemy within?
We must stop chasing ambulances and start counting them! Forewarned is forearmed: we must act now to protect our freedoms of life, liberty, and the pursuit of communists! We must realign our national priorities--royalties vs. loyalties--and recognize the Red Cross for the threat that it is.
Think about it. J. E. Suggitt, Monte Vista, Colorado
Kudos to Expresso Tilt! Your fine publication has been the rage among student and faculty alike since its appearance here at The Institute. Personally, I find it an invaluable learning tool, and I've adopted it as the main text for an upper level sociology course entitled, "The Depravity of Malcontention: Aberrant Mores and the Decline of Western Civilization." I would like to take this moment to extend to you a hearty invitation to appear as guest participant at one of our popular seminars; perhaps the Tar and Feather Workshop or Intro to the Pillory would suit you best. We would most certainly find it a gratifying experience, and I have no doubt you would also find it memorable and educational. Please consider our request for the good of higher education. With all due respect,
Margaret Brandon, Ph.D., Institute by the Sea, Muenster, Ca.
Man O' the Year (aka David Crosby) Letters
I would like to thank you for naming me "Man O' The Year." Despite all my troubles of the past few years, a few good things, like your award, did come my way. Whenever I got really down I just reminded myself that a few very special, sensitive people still cared about the real me and appreciated me for my talents, which, by the way, I still possess. A soon-to-be-released album, entitled "Songs from Behind the Wall by a Persecuted Rock Legend," should prove that I can still crank out classics. David Crosby has returned. I'll be back on top in no time. I'll have my own goddamned Live Aid thing with just one star -- ME! ME! ME!!! And I'll keep all the fuckin' money for myself. Then we'll see what those sonsofbitches down in Texas have to say. Nobody tells me what to do. Nobody. Do you hear me? I am the fuckin' King. I'm calling the shots from now on. Nash and Stills work for me, and always did. I'll do or take anything I damn well please. You lousy bastards hear me?
Again thanks for the wonderful award. I truly deserved the recognition, and now, thanks to you, I am once again on the straight and narrow. Peace and Love to all who appreciate me,
P.S. By the way, I finally cut my hair.
Love the magazine, but I've got to keep this letter short. David Crosby is a house guest here. He's on the couch and wants me to get him another beer.
Sincerely, Larry Stolte
The stuff in your magazine about David Crosby reminds me of a story about the Grateful Dead. Somebody complained in a rock magazine that the Dead never change tempos and never play any fast songs. The next issue somebody wrote in and said that the Dead have taken so many drugs they think they are playing fast.
Incredibly cordially, Joe Queenan
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