Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Bring It
C. Monks wants to scrap. He’s all jealous cuz Blog Fight Clubs are all the rage, and he’s out in the cold, whimperin’ and cryin’ to his momma.

Well, I say to you, Monks—you Star Jones-Stalkin’, Curt Schilling Republicanism-Forgivin’, 900 McSweeney’s Puff Pieces-Submittin’, Hardly Evah Askin’ Me to Guest-Bloggin’, Own Picture Not Permittin’ But Other People’s Picures-Solicitin’ hack—you worst excuse for a poor man’s S.J. Perelman ever to be plagiarized in the New Yorker—lez do this thing, bitch.

But if you gonna bring it, you better bring it, cuz I’m gonna kick your blog’s ass back to 1997, and it’ll be all about Dave Matthews and your new fifteen-pound cellphone and how you can’t wait ‘til the iMac comes out cuz it’s gonna be AWESOME!

That’s right, I said DAVE MATTHEWS, bitch!

Here’s just a sample, people, of all the ways this wanna-be Shouter & Murmurer has done me wrong:

• Told Dana Plato that I thought she was fat, setting off downward spiral that led to her death
  
  
• Sabotaged my front-running design submission for the September 11 Memorial by writing “We Luv U Osama” on the architectural model
  
  
• Shot my dad in Reno just to watch him die
  
  
• Directed “Monster’s Ball”
  
  
• Secretly put a Guatemalan orphan in a piñata and laughed while I and my forty party guests whacked it with a stick

In fairness, I must confess that I once took out an ad in the Boston Globe announcing that the father of Monks’ children was a 71-year-old mentally challenged Albanian plumber named "Bardhosh," but I think you’ll agree it’s a six of one, half-dozen of another situation.

So, Mr. Wonder-Udder or whatever your name is, you better be ready, sucka, cuz I’m bringin’ a whole world of hurt to you, WULAD-style.