An Open Letter to The Shadow, and other fucktards that I hate.

Dear The Shadow Humperdink, esq,

Fuck you. Also, I hate you. Also, it isn’t fair of you to call me a bitch. I didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I should be calling you a bitch because of what you did to me. I know you know this already, but for the legions of fucktarded little human people out there, I’ll enumerate the things you’ve done to me. And also, I’ll call you “dick breath.”

First, you got me hooked on deer. I used to like goats, and goats were easy. Goats stay very still and just die when you kill them. They barely even know what’s happening. And furthermore, they have goats everywhere from Bulgaria to Thailand. Easy, right? Well, now that you got me hooked on deer, I’m learning that deer are hard. Deer don’t stand there. They run away really fast, and I’ve told you a hundred times, I cannot run in these shoes! And frankly, I’m tired of telling you that – you should know it by now. Anyway, I tried to get out of here and go to Ireland to eat deer, and guess what? They got different fucking deer. Who even knew there were different kinds of deer? I thought deer were just fucking deer. But it turns out that my deer are whitetail deer, and they only have them in the Americas. So then I thought, well, whatever, I’m stuck in North America. But so what? North America’s the best America anyway. But then guess what? I went to Texas to kill deer cuz they claim they got real big ones, and it turns out you’re not allowed to kill deer with rocks in Texas. Apparently, Franklin county Ohio is the only place on the planet where it’s legal to kill deer with big-ass rocks. In Texas they want you to use a gun or a bow or a forklift, like a freaking human. So, I said “fine,” I gave up my favorite hunting method – because, really, what is the point of killing something if you can’t do it with big-ass rocks? – and I waited until forklift season, and killed a deer – a whitetail deer, for all the fucking biologists out there – with a rented forklift, by the way (and you had better hope I don’t catch some weird redneck infection from using a rented forklift that like fifty dirty rednecks used before me without cleaning it – you’re supposed to wipe your sweat off the machine, Texans), and then I ate it, and it doesn’t taste right. It barely tastes like whatever Ohio deer taste like. So, I wasted more effort looking into this nonsense, and it turns out that deer in Franklin county have a special metallic taste because of all the mercury in the water, and they have this real chemically taste from all the dioxin that’s in the ground, and Franklin county is the only place in the country where there’s enough dioxin and mercury to make them taste like this. So, by getting me hooked on deer, you have doomed me to Franklin county FOREVER!!!!!!!!!! Or until I start to like something else. But, in any case, I’m doomed to stay here FOR NOW!!!!!!!!!! Do you know how hard it is to stay in Franklin county for a little while? Very hard. So, fuck you.

And then the second thing you did was get me accustomed to a certain lifestyle. I used to be just a normal Celtic goddess, being worshipped by fat internet chicks who know they’re way too fat so they try to make themselves seem interesting by pretending to be pagans and “worshipping” me. But fat internet chicks don’t really do anything except download sparkly unicorn/angel backgrounds for their content-free web pages, so it didn’t really mean much to me. I mostly just ignored them. But then you got me used to being catered to by a real person (or person-like thing) in the physical world, and now I’m having difficulty fading back into cyberspace/the ether. I’m used to people doing things for me now. It’s the lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to. But then you go play in the woods, or whatever the hell you were doing with the ghosts and the fat people and whatever, and you leave me here by myself with nobody to do what I tell them to do. If we were divorcing, I could petition the court to force you to pay me however much it took to hire someone to do whatever the hell I say, and maintain me in that lifestyle throughout perpetuity. But since you never married me, you halfwit, I can’t. I checked with a lawyer. So, I’m screwed. I have to do everything now. So, fuck you.

And then, because I’m stuck here in the physical world, I gotta have a place to live. I have to maintain some kind of dwelling, and they want money for that. Can you believe these fucking assholes? They want you to give them money just so you can live in their shitty little drywall buildings. And where the fuck am I supposed to get money from? I fixed up my resumé and dressed super slutty, but still no one wanted to hire me for anything good, no matter how many interviews I went on. We’re in the middle of a recession. No one is hiring anyone to set stuff on pink fire, or to crush things with big rocks. Trust me – I glance at the classifieds every other weekend or so. They’re not looking for that. They want people with skills. So, then I go on a job interview, and the dork is like, “Can you use Microsoft Word?” And I’m like, “No, of course not. What do I look like to you?” “Can you use Excel?” And I’m like, “Yeah, I really sit there and type shit into little bitch-ass boxes. Fuck off.” So, just because of that, he doesn’t hire me! You know what kind of fucking job I had to get? I gotta work at Spencer’s selling pink handcuffs to giggling high school girls. And that sucks. So, fuck you.

So, in conclusion, fuck you, you whining bitch of a sasquatch. Oh, it’s too small in jail, and I’m real big. If you were a real sasquatch, you’d man up and quit complaining. If you were a real sasquatch, you’d break out of jail, and come take care of me in the manner to which I have become accustomed, as is your legal responsibility, or would be if you had married me like you should have. You have no right to call me a bitch. I am a lady, and I’ve been mistreated. First, you got me hooked on poisonous metal deer, then you quit serving me and/or forcing minions of followers of Danu to serve me, and then you caused me to have to work. And that is wrong. And why did you do all this to me? So you could play ghosthunter at that shitty apartment complex. So you could sell cheap copies of famous art on the street corner. And in that pretentious, douche-baggy part of town? And now, you’re actually serving your sentence in jail, like some kind of wussy human or something? If you had a molecule of testosterone, if you had one single testicle, you’d walk out of there and do what you’re supposed to do. Which is whatever I decide. So, I’m not a bitch. You’re the bitch, bitch. So, fuck you.

Sin-fucking-cerely,

Danu

PS Love you, sweetie!