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If I ever get my hands on this fucker, you're in trouble.
Dear Myself in 1988,
First of all, fucker, stop eating. Just because you can fit 30 Chicken McNuggets, two cheeseburgers, a large fry, and a chocolate milkshake in your stomach, it doesn’t mean you should. Don’t you fucking realize that you are going to want to have sex with a girl in the near future? They do not want to have sex with a kid with cake frosting spread across his chin and a belly hanging over his neon green Skidz. Knock it the fuck off and join a sports team. No, not soccer, you dickless retard.
Okay, onto bigger and better things. You know that thing in the bathroom that hangs above the sink? It’s called a mirror. It actually reflects images of things that are in front of it. Do you know what that means? Yup, that’s you… the guy with the risky spiked-hair combination waterfall mullet. I don’t get it. Why do you go to so much trouble just to look like an asshole? Why not just let your hair grow and just never comb it? At least you can still give the same impression to people and not keep the Best Cuts at the mall in business for another week. Just because Bryan Bosworth does it, it doesn’t mean it’s sweet. I don’t see you running to go get your face ripped off by Bo Jackson. Are you aware of the amount of times that you are within an arm's reach of scissors during any given day? You are in fifth grade, for Christ’s sake. Your teacher has a bin full of them by the popsicle-stick basket. Cut that shit off and start beating-up some of the wimpy kids at lunch. This is the easiest time to accomplish a tough-kid reputation by picking on the lower end of the food chain. Stop coloring pictures and drawing comic books. That shit is not going to work out.
The Buckeyes are going to go undefeated and win the national title in 2002. I’ll send you a copy of the season results so you can accumulate a fortune. Don’t fuck up and lose it, or I’m going to find a DeLorean and beat your fat little ass into the ground, which would essentially be me whipping my own ass. That is kinda cool and sort of like Fight Club. I will have so many rules about not talking about my fight club. Everyone will call me sir and we’ll do missions and break things. The point is, don’t fuck up, and put some cash on the Bucks and live like a king. I would have so much more trust in you if you weren't me.
After the spike-haired mullet is done away with and your future is secure, go to your closet. Why do you only own neon colored sweat-pants? This is not the WWF- which is actually the WWE but we won’t get into that right now. Stop being a dipshit. Buy a pair of jeans that aren't black or acid-washed, and put on a shirt that doesn’t say HOBIE. I can’t believe how on the opposite end of reasonable appearance you actually are. I am losing my mind. You stack the odds against yourself. You are lucky. This is probably the only generation you would get away with such a retarded image. In my time, people who dress the way you do are known as “shitheads.” “Shitheads” are known to frequent bowling alleys and trailer parks. They typically give a “thumbs-up” and a nod to anything remotely pleasant that’s blurted their way. Please stop being a “shithead.” You are digging a hole that is a bitch to work your way out of. Take off the Pizza Hut sunglasses and stop humming while you walk. Watch some John Hughes movies and act cool like Judd Nelson. Girls do not think it is cool when you dress up like Freddy Kreuger at recess. Why do I have to explain this shit to you? Damn it.
Typical. But Why?
There is so much more to say, but I feel morally vanquished at this time. Just work on the things I’ve informed you about here. Oh yeah, take your Sega Master System and throw it against the wall. Save your allowance, admit you were wrong, and buy a Nintendo. Alex Kidd sucks ass and would turn tricks for Mario if Luigi would let him. Way to pick a moment to be an individual and fight the status quo. You will later make a similiar decision about a Turbo Graffix 16. Good work, kid. There’s my compliment to you. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I have a negative self-image. Now, get outside, do something masculine, and stop being such a bitch.
Yourself,
Me
P.S. In 2002, don’t draft Kurt Warner for your fantasy keeper league. Dumbass.
i was just thinking of "the boz" last night as i drifting in and out of consciousness while watching a "hogan knows best" marathon where he and his son were playing golf against some "shithead" m' effer and his son. dont know who the dude was, but he reminded me of "the boz"
good stuff.
Scott
Classic
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Posted: 9/21/2005 10:18:40 AM
Some pretty sweet shit in here. Skidz. Very nice. What about Z. Cavaricci, I.O.U. or anything else sold at P-town Mall's Merry-Go-Round? Maybe we can hang-out at USA Skates and dance in the middle of the rink.
STEVE
SO JUAN....
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Posted: 9/21/2005 11:56:38 AM
You never really told us...are you still a fat ass fuckin Mexican with a sweet Meximullet who never gets pussy? I'd bet your fuckin government housing on it.
matt
Juan
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Posted: 9/21/2005 12:08:44 PM
Pretty good, hell I got nothing.
Stu P
yes!
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Posted: 9/21/2005 1:29:48 PM
tears in my eyes from laughing so hard. this could've been a letter to me too.
Cletus
good stuff
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Posted: 9/21/2005 1:38:59 PM
What about hyper color, at sons of britches, chess king, or silvermans. All located on the upper level of the p-town mall.
Atlas
Please add
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Posted: 9/21/2005 3:53:09 PM
Bandanas tied to legs, tight rolling jeans, wearing bicyle shorts and those stupid fucking mesh water shoes.
I hate the eighties, thankfully I have forgotten most of it because I was to young to remember it. Seriously who would want to grow up during a decade that girls wore puffy shit with shoulder pads. Also AIDs scared people off from casual sex for a while. I would feel thoroughly cheated had I been at an age where there was any chance of sexual contact during that horrible 10 years.
Gavrilo
Outstanding
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Posted: 9/23/2005 5:31:53 PM
Between this and the UFC article, you should be writing children's books or parenting self-help or some such. Everything I Need to Know I Learned in the Octagon.
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