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Fuck The High Road
Dear Dickhead, It's Me, Margaret

Tell Those Dickshafts Off

I used to spend countless hours sucking Miracle Whip through a straw while getting a peanut butter hummer from the dog and neurotically fretting about what people in Gautier, MS and Queensland Australia thought of me. Did they "FUKING Hat yoUR GUTs", Jason? Did people thousands of miles away "went t b ther when yur mthrfucking crusified"? And was there anyone in Spokane, WA who "head an alchlic mom die and wuld kick your asshole if you did that bullshit with here"? I thought I would never receive the social acceptance and attention that my "DEPAVED PICEOFSHIT SOCIOPATHETIC PIECE OF OF SHIT SOUL" seemed to cry for.

Then I created this site and the societal approval I so desperately craved poured in. Mostly, the affirmations came in the form of threats comprised of misspelling-filled sentences that were heavy on capitalized adjectives and light on grammatical structure. Everyone else with a web site that receives hate mail seems insanely proud that some clenched-ass flunky wrote to tell them that they suck. They just posts their exchanges on their site, and revel in their ipso facto witty replies that must prove the enormity of their genitalia. Not me.

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While it's without a doubt, obviously self-evident that any reply of mine is brilliantly witty and my cock is vomit inducing, revoltingly huge; I have grander, nobler; more altruistic, less narcissistic plans. Not only can you read my hate mail, but you can harness its power for yourself. Enter your your name and e-mail, the recipient's name and e-mail, select a message and then click the button. That will get you to a page to read my hate mail but addressed to your recipient and signed by you. On the side of the page is a button you can click to actually send it to them, plagiarized as your own. That'll learn 'em.

Actually no one died and elected me god, I usurped it.