Dear Miss Emo II

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Dear Miss Emo II,


Although my reasons for writing this letter are not of your concern, for the sake of charity I shall now deign to divulge them. First, I have heard so much about you that I feel that you deserve to be lambasted within an inch of your miserable existence. Second, I have been under a lot of stress and I feel that I ought to channel my frustration in the right way. While beating up some deserved whoreson provides a certain satisfaction, it also runs the risk of incurring a crippling fine and/or a lengthy incarceration. By abusing you, I am able to kill two birds with one stone.

The fact that you may never get to read this letter deters me not. What is more important to me is that after reading it, people who are suffering from their unfortunate association with idiotic parasites like you would be sufficiently inspired to abuse your ilk. Anyway, you are probably too stupid to understand my letter. If you happen to read this, do get someone to explain it to you, preferably using simple words.

You, Miss Emo, are the most wretched specimen your equally wretched country has ever produced. Your intelligence is as flat as your chest. Do not bother to wear a bra. There is nothing to support or cover. Your face is as plastic as you are spastic. The number of times it cracks daily is probably the same as your single digit IQ score. If you were in Nazi Germany, you would have been exterminated on the grounds of being morally, physically and mentally unfit, and the Nazis would have been – solely in your case – perfectly justified in doing so.

The reason why you still breathe is because it is illegal to kill you. The reason you even exist at all is because your father was so pathetic he was turned away by the cheapest whore, and your mother was so grotesque she could not get any other man to invade her cunt. Their untimely and shameful union was a pestilence upon the earth and a desecration of all moral values, and the end product of their many vulgar intercourses none better and a thousandfold worse.

Your parents should have drowned you the moment you were spawned. Your brood mates should have devoured you and have themselves killed to end this wretched lineage. Your parents should be sterilized, your mother made to work in a cheap whorehouse and your father deported to Afghanistan as cannon fodder in the War against Terror.

You are an utter disgrace to all Communications students. You know nothing about the world beyond your 10 inch thick push-up bras and your irregular and messy periods. You are so retarded that you could have beaten Ris Low, Dawn Yang, Xiaxue and Jamie Yeo on the stupidity scale. What possessed you to think that Mexicans speak Mexican? Perhaps you thought that ‘Singaporeans speak Singaporean’? The fact that you have managed to survive in your university course for so long is a vicious and damning indictment of our education system. One cannot imagine the horrendous amounts of taxpayers’ money squandered in funding the university education of functional retards like you. How many times have you spread your legs for your lecturers, how many times have you given them head, so that you could stay and stink up your faculty with your malodorous presence?

The male reptilians that surround and look upon you with adoration are sorry bastards and degenerates of the worst kind. DO NOT, even for a moment, feel flattered. They swarm you because they want a free fuck, and like your father before them, they are too cheapskate to pay for a cheap whore. Either that or they are myopic, pity you or have unresolved emotional issues that drive them to destroy themselves.

It was a pity that your dim-witted mother refused to allow you to attend your school's Halloween party. If you had gone, you would have won Best Costume, even without any makeup. It was incredible that you did not think of lying to your mother, since she was thousands of miles away and would not have known if you had opened your legs to your lousy boyfriend and/or the entire faculty including the teaching staff. Then again, knowing that you are mentally deficient, perhaps that should not have come as a surprise.

If you could not even hold onto your boyfriend’s micro-penis with both hands and your mouth, what made you think you could carry your friend’s camera and not let it shatter on the floor? You should compensate her for damages and refrain from touching any of her things. You are a hazard and a walking time bomb. You cannot even walk farther than a tortoise without wailing like you are being raped by ogres.

STOP torturing my friend. For once in her life she has a chance to get away from her intellectually bereft country. Please do not spoil it for her. Consider it an honour that she is your roommate. You should kiss the ground on which she walks. She is too good for you. Please do not touch her things, and keep away from her bed. She has enough difficulties breathing as it is, what with the poison you exhale. She does not need to be flea-infested as well.

Please do not procreate. Your very presence is already a blight upon the land, and that festering creature you call a boyfriend is not just an eyesore, but a disgrace to the male species. I do not, for a moment, believe that you are a virgin. You are a harlot, a whore, a strumpet, a slut, a brazen hussy and a trollop. Your idea of womanly virtue is to open that yawing and flea-bitten maw of a cunt to all those desperate enough to risk disease for the price of an orgasm. Just like your mother, you would have allowed the dead to hump you, had they been sufficiently ambulatory to bury themselves in your wet, eager and reeking crevice.

I beseech you. I implore you. I come to you with the most desperate of entreaties. KILL YOURSELF. Are you so wretched you do not even have a shred of decency left in what passes for your heart? Have your conscience been devoured by dogs? Then why do you not end it? End it now. Make it stop. Make the pain go away. I beg you. KILL YOURSELF.



Regards,
The Philistine.