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My inbox is such a weird place. From unpublishable videos of public sex acts, to whiny requests to blackball other users from the site, to “sloot”-related dilemmas like the one below, it’s a bottomless gold mine of bullshit and entertainment. Of all the Mailbag submissions I’ve gotten, this one may be my favorite.
Here’s the email I received:
Dear Uncle Rodge,
Let me begin by wishing that I was fratty as you. I’ve noticed my house has become pussies lately when it comes to girls, their all def gealous that i be pullin them in by the metric fuck ton and know they cant keep up. But I have a dilemma when it comes to the sloots recently. My ex slams best friends keep tryna hop on my nob, like duh, but I am aprehensive cause I would def give the ex slam a few more rounds in the ring if she wanted it and her knowing about these others would not work in my favor. This bro be tryna slay them all but I can’t figure out the smoothest methtud. Got any tips to help me continue my pursuit?
Thanks and suck a butt,
P.S. if we could bring back an update on the 15 year old badass, it would be greatly appreciated for my in class distractions.
“Let me begin by wishing that I was fratty as you.”
Let me begin by saying it only took me 14 words into your email to realize I hate your guts. Furthermore, it only took one and a half sentences for me to realize you’re a functional illiterate. I did, however, enjoy the second half of that second sentence a great deal, because I realized that you’re kind of funny–I’ve been sitting here at my desk for 15 minutes trying to imagine what a metric fuck ton of girls would actually look like.
For some reason, I picture hundreds of girls in bikinis impossibly squeezed into the back of an old pickup truck that is cruising down the highway, doing about 25 mph because the truck bed is so weighted down with the metric fuck ton of babes that the ass of the truck is dragging and throwing sparks out all over the road. I also wonder where this guy is taking all the girls and how he convinced a metric fuck ton of them to get into the bed of his truck. I don’t know why I see it that way, but it just goes to show that the imagery here is truly impressive, especially for a guy who thinks “jealous” starts with a fucking G.
“My ex slams best friends keep tryna hop on my nob, like duh…”
I don’t hate you anymore. You’re a poet, a born wordsmith. This is beautiful. Now I know where that guy in the truck is taking all those chicks, and why so many of them willingly piled into the bed–they’re going to hop on your nob. Like duh.
So, your problem is that you want to sleep with your ex-slam’s best friends, but you’re not done sleeping with your ex-slam. You know that sleeping with her best friends would screw up your chances, but you’re just tryna slay them all, huh? I feel you, player.
I’ve got the answer. Listen up: your ex-slam’s “best friends” aren’t really best friend material at all. They’re actually very shitty friends for tryna hop on your nob. Your nob is off limits to them, man. At least it should be. She needs new friends. Think about it. Maybe your ex-slam will be better off if you start slaying her friends. It may force her to drop those nob-hungry bitches and find some real bitches–real friends, the kind who don’t go around hopping on their friends’ ex-dudes’ nobs. If that doesn’t work, write a poem for her.
Boom. Problem solved.