- Bring me on staff as a highly paid humor consultant, specializing in whinging about perceived slights on the internet.
Make this right again, James. The collective gaze of the internet is upon you, anticipating that balance be restored. The internet is also probably wondering if you're into polyamory, yiffing, or light BDSM. They're dirty buggers, that internet.
*I was being modest. I could easily go for 20 minutes without even resorting to testicular humor. Try that.
They responded immediately with a few excuses I will get to below. But the major outcome of the exchange was that I would be mailed a t-shirt in exchange for their thought crime. A fucking t-shirt for the blood, sweat and more blood (a surprising amount of blood went into that article) that I poured into my work.
I gladly accepted.
However, just when I thought things concluded neatly, I awaited my reimbursement in form of t-shirt to no avail. The only thing more embarrassing than having my righteous indignation placated by a t-shirt is being denied said clothing. It was time for a new email, this time to the whole morning crew:
Man, time sure flies when you're being callously ignored.
Hi, James. I don't know if you remember me, but a few months back you reached into my chest and extracted my still-beating heart, plagiaristically speaking . In truth, you made it all right very quickly with such an "Aw Shucks!" brand of politeness that left me completely disarmed and equally pleased. I thought we were building the foundation of a beautiful bromance. Now I'm not so sure.
Not unlike my father who ritually missed my dance recitals (for the record, I was an *exquisite* swan), I was left with an empty promise by you for radio show swag. I don't know if it slipped your mind or you found yourself too jaded to care once the show received it's black & white goth-emo makeover:
"We're bringing you the pop hits of the 90s... but we're not happy about it."
... but you've left me wounded. Now is the winter of my discontent, especially given how chilly it is and me being topless because of a t-shirt shortage.
[As an aside, is it possible that Cori has gotten hotter? She is seriously a total MILPR (Mother I'd Like to Passionately Romance... she's too classy for the other acronym).]
Perhaps you don't understand the impact of what you have done. Your assurances that a forthcoming t-shirt would make everything right allowed me to build up my walls of trust again. After 5 months of a mailbox filled only with dashed hopes, you've leveled those walls once again. Granted, walls are an antithetical metaphor for trust, but I'm sticking with the analogy because I'm lazy.
I'd like to consider myself a fan of your work, despite not having heard your show yet. If anyone on the streets of San Diego approached me and asked "Hey there, you statuesque tribute to masculinity. Could you tell me what your favorite radio station in Fargo is?" I would have answered 105.1 without equivocation. Now... I'm not so sure. Is that a chance you're really willing to take?
I'm sending this message to you (and your associates in case you've begun filtering my emails to the 'I don't give a crap' folder) as a last salvo. You now have my fandom, my hopes, my dreams and possibly my love in your hands. What will you do with that power, James?
In response another gauntlet has been set. They have offered to have me on their show for a live, on-air interview. If you live in Fargo, you can tune in to Jim, James & Cori in the coming weeks to hear me beg for a t-shirt. If you live anywhere else in America, congratulations! Also, I will be updating the saga as it unfolds over on Internet Sensation.
*OK, so as you can tell by now, no names have been changed. Also, nobody dies. But come on, we had to.
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