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Fuckin with the Hardcore kiddies

My friend Jay had a friend named Slo who was the guitarist for the band 6thirty7.
Haven't talked Jay in a really damned long time, but for some reason I still have the mail I sent to Slo to fuck with him. Keep in mind, this is springfield, MA hardcore.
These are guys who take themselves very very seriously. my comment about godsmack and staind was a *blatant* slam.
And I was kind of a crackhead even then.
no, I won't blame you for not reading.


Subj: SexTurdySeben
Date: 2/15/00
To: slo637@hotmail.com

Slo.
or Sloe.
Like Sloe Gin... a fine fine beverage if I do say so myself. And I do. Not regularly. Only when occasion calls.
So... 6thirty7.. what the hell, first of all, possessed you to name your band 6thirty7? Was it a sweetly whispered post-coital request from some Massachusetts denizen of the welcoming bed or was it someone else's naming and you were saddled with it or did y'all really sit down and think it out and come up with it and I, silly little girl that I am, just fail to see the most assuredly deep and resonant metaphysical meaning?
Or, were you just stoned?
You know, driving past your house at night, I can see your friends sitting in your room toking it up. You should really turn out the light when you do that.
So, I have these things... "fingers" I like to call them (my own special little name) and I waggle them with extreme prejudice at certain passers by of certain types of outward modes of being. Mainly the ones emblazoned with logos. They should be required to sport strap on head gear that stands a good foot above their head with a tiny little billboard and "this message brought to you buy an overindulged pawn in the mass media's drive toward cattle-like complacency. We own you." written in small "thank you for your patronage" letters. Shelling out the couple hundred for the advertising headgear would be even trendier and status cementing than the shirts and hats they willfully and impatiently vie to become billboards for.
I should be a fucking ad exec.
Or a geico sales associate. whichever.
So, would you characterize your music as more godsmack or staind?
Caffeine, when injected into the delicate pink skin just inside my lower eyelid, doesn't make me twitch nearly as much as snorting canned air.
I'm a carnal, organic anagram. Human flesh instead of written letters. I rearrange my pathetic tissue. I incise, I replace, I'm reformed.
If God can exist in a raindrop, can it exist in a different liquid of similar consistency and volume? Can God exist in dog drool? Can God exist in pre-cum? Can God exist in the drop of blood from a paper cut on the finger of a middle management stooge who has yet to see a woman's breasts and mom is still mommy and who's thinking of getting a rad pad of his own, just as soon as he turns 40?
Nothing exists in a vacuum... but could God?
I think God exists in cheeze-whiz.
But, seriously, Slo, if I may call you "Slo", Slo, isn't an earring in each ear just a tad fruity? They look good on you, don't get me wrong. Work that thing, girlfriend. <> But aren't you just the least bit apprehensive that you may find yourself looking for new jewelry one day and start eyeing the gorgeous 2 carat dangly diamond teardrop studs with the matching tennis bracelet?

Go with Bob, young man.
West.. go west.
Love you, schnookums.

~A Fan

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
punkalicia
Jun. 22nd, 2001 11:02 am (UTC)
fruitcake
you're a fucking nutjob

which, of course, is why i love you so much.

-a
frobisher
Jun. 22nd, 2001 11:20 am (UTC)
Re: fruitcake
Yes. You can just feel the love.

I'll go get some towels.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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