The Latest in a Long Series of Rejection Letters

Mr. Green,

    It is once again a pleasure to be in correspondence with you. I believe your plan to form this new called “Murder-sexocrat” party is of tremendous ambition. Your platform of both championing the murder of “people who annoy the every loving shit out of [you], and other such douches” and “making sure every one gets theirs and is all sexed up and fuck” is, if nothing else, direct. I believe the greatest hurdle you can expect to encounter is that of an unresponsive American public. While your plan to combat this with, “lead pipes, chains, dentist drills, and a deuce load of smack that goes boom”, is swift and comprehensive, I seriously question the amount of confidence it will instill, as well as how much support you can muster through such means. While your ‘Manifesto’ was a thrilling and convincing read, I regrettably must inform you we are unable to run it in it’s entirety. 1,056 pages written in elk blood is a bit long for a monthly periodical. Also, correlating an advertising strategy for such an issue has proven modestly difficult. In fact, the most frequent response I encountered was, “You must be out of your fucking mind, Jenkins.” To prove I am in no way at fault for this, I am enclosing a list of these advertisers with their corporate addresses and photographs of the offices of their higher level management most visible through binoculars or a high powered scope. I sincerely hope that this show of good faith is cause enough for you not to follow through on your promise of “leaving [your] compound in the woods, coming to where [I] sleep, and fucking [my] shit up beyond any human and decent level of the homeostasis of [my] shit, [you] mean have [I] ever seen what a rubber hose and a crescent wrench can do to someones (here I am forced to infer ‘someone’ is ‘me’) kneecaps/gullet!?” I assure you, I have not, and I would very much like to keep it that way. While we are unable to publish this latest submission, we invite to continue submitting your work with us. Your last piece, “Suck My Rape You Facist Bastards: A Play About Change”, is still a favorite of many in our editing department.

You Really Have No Need to Hurt Me,

Thomas S. Jenkins
Editor in Chief Gourmet Magazine
Future Murder-Sexocrat (My donation of your requested $36.12 in pennies minted before 1960 is enclosed, please do not feel obligated to inform me of it’s intended use.)