Letter to an Old Friend, II

Damian, you sinister sphinx, I know you and that pantless freak Tore are
behind this obcenity. But I’m on to
you! I knew I’d find you hiding in the
of Ebay between the

nitrate anal beads and black-light reactive enema nozzels.

HREF=”http://www.crapcore.com/mishap_records-artists.htm”>James, you

Don’t fuck with me man. Prove that
stalinist is still alive or I’ll deport

HREF=”http://www.crapcore.com/jared.html”>Jared to Mexico. No! Wait!
FUCK that! Mexico’s too good for scum like him! I’ll deport him Syria
where he can’t drink the water and the beer sucks too!

These are serious times, gentlemen, and they call for serious people. God
damn savages.

Who the hell are you? I don’t have to answer these questions. Identify
yourself or I’ll sick my
minions of
on you.

Your “minions of alcoholics”?

Please, brother, Please!

doesn’t scare me. I eat the inflamed kidneys of boys like him and
HREF=”http://www.crapcore.com/jaredartpage.htm”>Jared the Rock for
lunch. …grilled with onions, chives and served with a chilled liter of

Though I admit his art’s quite good… Jared’s too. Hm.
music induces a low level of insanity and gave me nightmares last
night. He will be classified a Level III munition and enlisted in
psychological warfare in the next round of Canadian-Ugambian wars, if I
have anything to say about it.

Who am I?

I am the squirrel who runs across 101 at 3pm on a Monday afternoon. I am
the pot that grows between your toes after you’re been eating the
mushrooms that grow from your navel. I am the Unibomber disguised as a
walrus and I am the Fed who knocks over the drum set. I am the Level 4
necromancer who animates little corpses for the pleasure of you and your
necrophiliac friends. I your getaway driver when you liberate
Spleen-a-Zine from Kinkos. I am the Zelda to your Link and the Goomba who
shrinks your Mario. I am the premier vendor of Insta-Soul^tm and
Insta-Babe^tm. (“Just add water!”) I am the terrorist who flattened
Mentoid Hill and the psychopath who warbles in the forests of Tennessee
Valley while you fondle your Martini. Yes, I am the twisted bluebird who
infests your computer with bad noise and poor logic.

Show some respect of I’ll shove catnip up your nose.

Who am I?

I am the Jay you do not smoke.


If your poor abused brains are too addled with cocaine and soggy with rum
to identify me then that filthy stalinist known as

HREF=”http://www.crapcore.com/jamescallletters.htm”>The REAL James has
lost irretrievably
to the Tibetans

God damn savages.