Guest column! Guest column!

(EDITOR'S NOTE: For those of you not reading my blog -- in other words, ALL OF YOU -- it has been linked to by some other, very prominent blogs and has earned dozens of repeat visitors. Try it. You might like it.)

Hi. The Aggie here, with this message:

Don’t make me angry.

You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

Ask around. My nickname at work, I kid you not, is “Lord Vader,” and I haven’t even lost my temper with anyone at work. In fact, I’m quite mild-mannered.

Ok, except that one time when I used the Force to hurl a stapler at the back of my boss’ head. But he had it coming.

There are a few things that make me angry: the continued existence of the Texas Longhorns and Dallas Cowboys, the concept that the incredibly naïve and unqualified Barack Obama might be president and the idea that the Weather Channel now hires global warming lunatics instead of MEGABABES to do their forecasts amongst them.

Another sure fire way to piss me off: insult my wife. And that (see below), is what “Jane,” or “Pig Whore,” has done.

Cue the loud mechanical breathing. But, before I strangle this bitch with my Jedi mind trick, I’ll let you read an E-mail I sent her.

Dear Jane:

For starters, what the hell kind of name is “Jane?” Was your daddy pissed that you were an alleged chick, because then he couldn’t call you “Tarzan?” It must suck knowing that, from the day you came out of your disgusting mother’s womb, you were hated.

Well, let me continue to confer the joy of hatred upon you, because you have pissed me off. If you were a guy, I would, in the words of the immortal Jake Taylor, “cut your nuts off and shove them down your fucking throat.” But, since you aren’t, I’ll just limit myself to informing you of what a subhuman whore you are.

It’s so very pleasant to see that you find insulting someone who might be chubby amusing. I have a similar joy – I love to insult gutless sluts who talk big behind computer screens. Look, Jane! For once, you’re a winner! I know that being too stupid to spell certain words, like, say, “impassioned,” must make it a drag going through life, but some of us do have to work the graveyard shift at Walgreen’s, smoke Kools and adjust the clothes hanger you use as an antenna so you can watch Oprah over at the double-wide.

(Oh, use a metal hanging, you damned bimbo. Plastic don’t work too good.)

There are descriptors for people like you, none of which are flattering. As a result, I’ll use a few. You’re a callous moron, a despicable waste of human flesh and evidence that, hey, the best part of you rolled down your momma’s leg. Oh, and I called her – she’s ashamed of you too.

PCOS and Fibromyalgia are both serious, well-documented diseases. My wife suffers with both of them on a daily basis, which means, simply, she doesn’t need your wonderful missives that you write while drooling on your keyboard. I would suggest you find a better thing to do, like complete your GED or find out where Jamie Lynn Spears is registered so you can get her little kid a present. And no, they won’t accept food stamps.

If you feel that I’ve been insulting, degrading and maybe a little over the top, good. That’s the intention. I want you to know that some things don’t change in life – if you screw with a good person, someone with the hammer is going to pound on you. The good person is Momma Pug. And now? Stop, Hammer Time.

I guess, dear Jane, that I could have summed this up more succinctly: fuck you and I hope you die painfully. But that’s no fun, now, is it? Let’s just leave it at this – write my wife again and you’ll be the possum in the middle of the road when I come through with an M-1 tank.

(In case you didn’t know, those are real big and real heavy.)

Love and Kisses,
The Aggie