By Josh Payong

Below, we have printed an email written by one B&S writer to another in hopes of maintaining full transparency and journalistic integrity. Neither party has consented to its publication, but the truth must be told. Their names have been censored for anonymity.

Dear *******,

You are, as Shakespeare put it in All’s Well That Ends Well (Act 3, Scene 6), “A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality.” A waste of space and trustee funding. The only thing you contribute to our publication’s meetings is a reason to leave the room earlier because of how absolutely nasty your obviously unwiped ass smells. None of your articles have made it past peer review. None of your ideas even make it onto the “In Other News” section. None of your “friends” like being around you. If this wasn’t such a small school, rest assured they’d never talk to you again.

I haven’t forgotten about The Incident back in 2021. You’re the reason Ian and his bearded dragon, Sir Gustavius Frungus IV, are no longer with us. Did you know that Sir Gustavius Frungus V had to pick up a dish room D-Hall job because his father wasn’t there to provide? You robbed him of any liberty—of any chance at a normal terrarium childhood. You’re a monster. A monster that should have never found FM’s secret forklift in the HSSC basement.

You’re the reason for the Grinsmell.

You’re the reason the B&S only has funding for 8 pages of physical copies.

You’re the reason Club Penguin was shut down. 

You’re the reason Mom never let us go to McDonald’s, even if we had the money.

You’re the reason I’m divorced and won’t have a date for the Waltz. Prick.

I could keep going, but I think you’ve got it, even behind that thick skull and those cartoonishly wide glasses of yours. Nerd 🤓 emoji lookin’-ass.

I hope you know that even the blind, foul scavengers of this godforsaken planet see you as a rotting piece of garbage. The man on the moon turns his back on us in embarrassment because he knows that you, God’s foremost mistake, walk amongst the innocent. Your life is a monument to the failures of this country—nay, to humanity as a whole. In a town crawling with overgrown brown rats that climb trees, you are the biggest rodent of all.

I’d love to continue, but on the off-chance that this email gets published, I want to stay below the word limit and make sure our editor’s headaches aren’t exacerbated. Unlike a certain someone.

To end with another Shakespeare quote, this time from The Taming of the Shrew (Act 4, Scene 1): “Away, you three-inch fool!”

With seething hatred,