Hatemail.

M friend CB does some writing on his free time. It’s mostly a sports blog but he’s in the middle of a transition with his site, otherwise I’d link it up here. Instead, here’s a weird Anime picture of someone who got shoved in a tiger’s ass.

EDIT: CB’s site is up and running. His first post is about Plaxico Burress’ love of pussy. Read it or the terrorists win. And now, the weird Anime picture of someone who got shoved in a tiger’s ass.

weird animeCB’s writing is pretty much unfiltered and uncensored because he’s a man who says what he wants and gives absolutely zero fucks about who he offends.

As such, he receives a lot of hatemail.

When he told me this, I didn’t tell him to maybe tone it down a bit. I didn’t tell him he was alienating parts of his audience. I didn’t tell him to be more careful.

I told him I was jealous.

That’s right. Jealous. Of all the hatemail he gets.

Why? Because I never get any.

Having worked in customer service for the last 12 years, I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that people are far more likely to call up a restaurant and bitch about an experience than they are to call that same restaurant to rave about it. People love to whine and complain and piss and moan until they’re blue in the face.

No one really gives a shit when they do it, but it doesn’t stop them. The Internet has empowered the masses to hide behind the glow of their monitors and click-taps of their keyboards while they put together a sloppily-written note that looks like a thesaurus had an abortion.

But hatemail is still validating.

Someone felt such an emotional response to something you wrote that they took time out of their day to tell you how much they want to kick your teeth in.

It’s endearing, really, to think the things you’ve written impacted someone’s life that much, even if it means they pray every night before bed that you get struck by lightning or a badger rips off your balls.

So why do I care that no one hates me?

Because, as they say, bad publicity is still publicity. Look at Eminem in 1999 and 2000. Motherfuckers hated him but he ate it up because it catapulted his white, rapping ass into superstardom and a pretty admirable prescription drug addiction.

That’s not to say the guy’s talent didn’t help, because he has plenty of that, too.

Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to more motherfucking readers.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I have this blog because I love writing for me. In that way, writing is like my sex life; I always come first. Everything else that comes after it does so on its own, organically (and with incessant Twitter promoting).

Do you get hatemail that you don’t want to respond to? Send it to me! I’ll do it for you! The only thing I ask is that you let me post the contents of the letter and my response here, on Content Unrelated. If you insist I instead write it for your blog, that’s fine, too. So send me your hatemail!

Or!

Do you have hatemail for me? No?

Abortion jokes are funny and the Holocaust never happened.

Go!

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12 thoughts on “Hatemail.

  1. Dear whoever you are,

    You blow and your pee smells like asparagus. I also disagree with everything you’ve ever said ever. Also, hate.

    Love,
    Goldfish

    (did that make you feel better? I can try again. I’m not good at this.)

  2. I’d like to post this in all public places: The Internet has empowered the masses to hide behind the glow of their monitors and click-taps of their keyboards while they put together a sloppily-written note that looks like a thesaurus had an abortion.
    That’s simply brilliant.
    Here’s hoping you get some beloved hate mail.
    I post under my real name so I treat most things online like I could see you in person tomorrow. I might think hateful thoughts, but I ain’t writing ’em down.
    Not that I’ve had any hateful thoughts toward you….
    Best of luck with the hate thing. I think.

  3. I was laughing too hard to hate this. I kept thinking about that picture as one of those flip a page books. Each page would have the anime coming out just a bit farther, until the sh!t had been taken.

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