Hate mail. I don’t get nearly enough of it. Unless you define hate mail as mail I hate getting—like parking ticket subpoenas (which mostly come from trying to park in the most frustrating lot downtown, the SLUG office lot, thank you very much) or credit card bills. I don’t mind junk mail, although I’m not a junkie or coupon user, junk mail makes me feel special. Like I’m somebody. Out of all the people on the planet, this huge corporation took time out of their busy schedule to bombard me with shit I’m just going to throw away.
No, I don’t get enough mail, manifested physically by snail mail or digitally by e-mail in regards to what I write in SLUG. People tell me that they think it happens all the time, but a written response to something I wrote is a rare treat. Like caramel apples, or ecstasy or any other seasonal delicacy. No one really writes me. Boo hoo, poor me.
I personally think the reason I don’t get any hate mail these days is because the current generation of SLUG readers are apathetic. Texting’s way easier than writing a letter. I’m working on a proposal with the SLUG editors where we can start a Dear Dickheads text line and you can just mobily express your hatred for SLUG.
The reason I like hate mail is it really makes me feel like I’m doing something right with what I write, right? I finally got a duesy last month that ended up in Dear Dickheads. Much to my chagrin, the author directed the letter at SLUG and not me. So I never got a chance to properly respond.
If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest you pick up issue number 264 out of your bathroom garbage can and give it a gander. I get accused of being arrogant, a grimy chauvinist, ridiculous, inappropriate, preadolescent, egotistical and ridiculous. All true, and all compliments if you want to be an effective writer. I can’t believe he or she (most likely she if I have to go all Dr. Phil on the letter) left out narcissistic and misogynistic in the barrage of beautiful nouns to describe me.
I’ve been thinking about which ex-girlfriend I have who might have written that letter, seeing how she said that she’s met me in person before, or which underage broad it was who I wouldn’t let into Urban Lounge some night. Or maybe it was actually Ryan Jensen. His ego matches mine, but he’s got way more charisma than I do. Either way, it means what I’m doing is effective—or at least it affected one person.