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Dear Love Translators, 
                   What the fuck is wrong with you guys? 
                                                                  Signed, 
                                                                           Concerned American


Well Mr. or Mrs. American, let me tell you what the fuck is wrong with me. America, that's what the fuck is wrong with me. See, I'm not down with all this shit. I was down with native America and you had to fuck it all up with your rules and your trash blowing everywhere making us cry an shit. I want to go back to the old ways. Folks used to be all walking around this motherfucker naked, smoking weed and shit. Yeah, we fought sometimes, but it was with tomahawks and shit. We didn't sit back, eating flaming hot cheetos punching in coordinates to send a missile to. To scalp somebody, you really had to get in on the action. That's when men were men.
   There are those that call me a sexist. Nothing could be further from the truth. in the old days, there was no concept of "people as property". The whole tribe was a family and one could have many husbands or wives. There was no jealousy. Also, women were tribal leaders. I'm down with that. I don't even care about all this boring "tribal council" shit, I just want to go kill something. Women, y'all work it out. we trust you. We're gonna go hunt buffalo with some sharp sticks because we're real fucking men, not some overweight mouthbreather in a deer stand with an orange vest on checking his facebook on his iphone till a deer walks by.
   Yeah, I look around at all the sad, flabby, needy, disgusting, weak people and it makes me want to vomit, so I have to make myself laugh with heavy sarcasm and verbally raping idiots like yourself. I really just want to share my zen with you all. "one moon shows in every pool, in every pool the one moon". meditate on that, bitch.

Pay attention "Concerned Asshole" because there is nothing wrong with me. Period. I am pretty much the ideal, twenty-first century bad-ass. Did you know that everything I say or write immediately goes into a database at the library of congress so future generations can learn from my awesomeness. Seriously, there is a government made computer chip in my vocal chords that digitally encodes every single word I say and documents it for posterity. If you type in "super radical" in google you get a picture of me killing a grizzly bear with a spork. How badass is this fucker: the other day, just a typical monday, I came home from work and this random woman was all "would you rather have veggie pot pie or baked ziti" and I was all "veggie pot pie girl!" So she made it and we ate. We talked about some punk motherfucker at her work that was gettin' all up in her shit and I was like "man, fuck that bitch." And then she was like "yeah, fuck that bitch." Then we watched the last half of Inception and went to bed fool. Like 10:30 or 11:00 or some shit. I spooned the fuck out of this random woman all Gnomeo and Juliet style. Yeah that's right, Gnomeo and Juliet. I gots an advanced screening of that joint because Dreamworks was all "Man, you fucking know everything. Check this out and tell us want you think." I watched it and was like "this shit is the bomb! Quite possibly the dopest movie ever made. Right behind the latest piece Jennifer Anniston dropped." And then, last week, this dude at the store was all like "man can I get some change?" So I reached in my baller-ass pocket and gave him 37 cents. Just like that. Droppin' 37 cents like that shit is worth nothin'. Just take it you grizzly bastard. I told him to keep that quarter in his pocket because everything I touch has magical powers. Seriously, if I fart and you are in the resultant cloud you will be like "damn that shit stinks!" And I'll be all "yeah fuckstick, I made that shit." Congratulations bitch, now you can see the future. And what do you see? Me standing on a pile of waffles and money lookin' powerful as fuck. Did you know I can sew? I just take fabric and make my random woman dresses for Christmas and shit. Just like that. Fabric+Me=Dress. BOOM! ALL UP ON IT SON! GET SOME!!! So if you come at me with that bullshit again you might get stabbed. Provided I'm not mowing my lawn or watching Law and Order with my wife. What now bitch. Call before you come. We also play Scrabble sometimes and no man wants to interrupt my Scrabble time. Also, my random woman hates it when people drop by unannounced. Other than that bring it shithead. It will be the last mistake you ever make. I am solid gold dinosaur turds fuckface.