I’ve had about enough of your puerile humour. It’s not funny. It just panders to the dick and fart crowd. As an athlete, and a mum, I find your articles personally offensive. Imagine if my 15 year old boy read your filth. Please kindly return to whatever hole it was you crawled out of.
Ahh, welcome. A privilege to have you here, Over-it.
I want to start with a wee story, of course. Just the other day I was out in the hills with my esteemed friend (and consultant in grime), the Kidney Boy. He thinks my articles are funny, by the way. (An affliction owed, no doubt, to his dickness and his fartness.) The Kidney Boy pulled out his smartphone and scrutinised the screen for a moment before frowning and putting it back in his backpack. Then he turned back to the marvellous landscape that we had been considering.
He remarked then, and I’m inclined to agree now, that that is how the internet should be: a small space, represented within the palm of your hand, over top of which you can see the big wide world.
The thing about people like you is that your world is kind of the other way around.
Your standards are rigorous because you spend a lot of time on the internet. The hours you spend glued to the web map out its contours in your mind, but they are shaped according to your values. Anything that seems out of place–that challenges the identity of the internet–challenges your identity, because they are inextricable.
I’ve stamped out a grubby little corner to be a safe space into which I can invite the dick and fart crowd (my contemporaries) so that we can stare straight down the eyelet of the big, rude wang of life. We’ll have a few laughs, and along the way we might pause to consider the essence of it all. Sexiness and romance is simply a convenient expression of this–it’s a little serious, a little fun, and sometimes a little rude.
My flavour may be puerile, and at times I may shade into the offensive, but they’re just words on a screen, Over-it. An all-access pass to your boy’s browsing history (don’t bother, he deletes it vigilantly) would show you that I’m the least of your worries. A dirty story isn’t about to compromise his chances of becoming a Very Good Boy.
I get that you’re not into it. That doesn’t make you humourless, it just means you don’t like it. But you don’t have to. The internet is optional. You can close it down any old time you like, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like you can. I don’t like hokey pokey ice cream, so do you know what I do when I go to the supermarket?
I don’t buy it.
So you’ll have to forgive me if I stick around. Because in a manner of speaking, I never left my “hole”. You simply crawled into it and remarked that it stinks. Perhaps it’s just time you headed back for the light.
If you need some life and/or love advice, have a burning relationship issue or just want to know about the birds and the bees, email Leonard then sit back and wait for the knowledge to set you free.