A letter to an old friend:
Dear my childhood foe.
All these years have passed since the glorious days of primary school, yet the image of you is still fresh in my mind. You will be glad that to know that you have earned a permanent place in my heart, where seething hatred is also bubbling away. I hope this letter finds you well, not longer as illiterate as a fucking ox and showing up at school in a grey shirt that was supposed to be white, arousing suspicions of whether you owned a washing machine. Given the sluggishness of retail growth, now is the time to smash open your piggybank and pop down to your local Harvey Norman (since Bing Lee’s Asian, eww right?) where you can FINALLY purchase a washing machine. Please, I do insist. It’s for the good of humanity.
Are you still in my year, dear friend? Or have you been downgraded again? If so, I would suggest for you to just rage quit, although you may have done that by now you smart boy. My friend saw you smoking weed near Castle Mall awhile back so it’s nice to know that you have finally pursued your dreams of being a doping failure and a weighty burden on society.
There are some things that I do want to inform you though. No, not just the fact that I think you were a fucking prick and a downright racist who’s almost on par with Pauline Hanson, or the fact that your chingchongchinaman jokes about me paddling back to my own country were never going to land you a gig at the Melbourne Comedy Festival (oh lord, I do express my sincere sympathies to your future audiences). Alas no, it’s much more important than that. You see, while I was just going on my daily morning stroll on Facebook, I came across your status update of:
“who wants to get smashed with me n dom come on girls u know u want to!”
Look, I know you’re downright desperate for a drink and a shag. No, don’t even try and deny it because it’s written all over your update. But to be brutally honest, no girl will voluntarily want to drink with you, not even if you paid them. Well, unless you’re Pauline Hanson, which in that case do go ahead and indulge senselessly, since you didn’t have a fucking brain to begin with. Maybe next time, you should just skip this embarrassing proclamation of desperation and call up Borat’s sister, since she’s the No.1 prostitute in Kazakhstan.
I’m so sorry that I had to be the first to break it to you. Do you want a Kleenex? I know reality is hard to confront sometimes. All the best for your future girl-scouting endeavors!
Love, xx
Betty.