Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Letter to a troll

Recently, I've had a few run-ins with the locals that have brought unnecessary amounts of stress on my already stressful life. I've taken it upon myself to start writing letters to these people in the hopes that they will accidentally stumble upon it while Googling "douche bags." Expect more of these in the future and feel free to send your own my way.

To Shrek/the man that forcefully stole our table at the bar,

Thank you for "blessing" us with your ogre-like charisma and lack of anger management the other night. No, really. I wanted my beer spilled on the table and my sleeve because it was so tasty I didn't think I could handle it all and was going to do that anyways. But you beat me to it, so thank you for that. Additionally, thank you for bringing us the stench of your 4 day marathon party shirt and your hat drenched with the ocean of sweat that naturally produces when someone is sitting doing nothing active whatsoever. That's a common problem, so I understand. And let me be the first to apologize. You and the other trolls were probably out for a night of drinking after terrorizing the villagers, and I almost ruined it for you. Tell them I'm sorry too. The next time I see you I'll bring you a baby to eat or a bag full of Big Macs or something (although you're probably sick of eating them EVERY day...) And I'm sorry we didn't fight. I know you were threatening it and everything, but I just wasn't in the mood and you are a lot bigger than me (actually you are a lot bigger than 95% of everyone.) But if it makes you feel any better, you probably would have got a few good shots in and impressed the 2% of girls that think cavemen are sexy. You really scared me slugger. Anyways, I hope we didn't get in your way too much, and I hope you enjoyed sitting at our table. Tell donkey I say hello.


Extreme Brigs said...

Are there any studies that link the flow of testosterone to the amount of alcohol one drinks in an evening? Because it seems like any time you're out a bar there's someone who wants to pick fights with you. I'm not that sort of guy. I smell flowers and pick feel-good ditties on my mandolin. When drunk, I'm even more gentle. I don't understand this phenomenen where twentysomethings get wasted and lose their ability to live peacefully with the rest of the human race. It's disheartening, really. I'm sorry he was so mean to you. Would you like to smell my flower and thrumb out some tunes?

John Curtis said...

I was also there and felt everything could have been solved with a civil discussion highlighting the rejection of Machiavellian principles, thus resulting in his abandonment of the table in favor of our comfort, denying himself pleasure to serve that of the greater society. Right?