Love Mail: Move Out of the Country Before I Shoot You
William B. sent us the most charming little love note last night:
You people and your website are sorry sacks of shit. Please pack up your shit and move to another country before you attempt to take my guns and I’m forced to retaliate.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I’m very concerned. You see, William, in your second sentence you tell us to “pack up our shit,” but in the first sentence you very clearly indicate not only that our shit is already in sacks, but that we are the shit, already packed, that we should pack up. Can shit pack itself? Does it have opposable thumbs? These are thematic cesspools into which you wade, William B., without any clear indication of a path out.
Who’s taking William B’s guns? Was it you, Peregrin? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: we don’t touch other people’s guns, young man! We hire the hobgoblins and elves to do it.