October 20, 2006
When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.
Subject line: (no subject)
u know wat i think? i think that u r just writing about people "dressing bad" cuz u guyz r just jealous jealous cuz they r so much prettier and better than u
Let's not spoil this with accusations of insecurity. We both know I'm handsome. Dapper. I'm Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen, all in one, but without the antlers, and sometimes, without the kicky tail. But I need a Rudolph, you sweet scamp. I can make your red nose glow -- care for some Hug Tag?
Yours in reindeer games,
Subject line: Hi
Blogs are for fags. p.s. You suck at the innernet.
At first, I admit, I was stung when I read your words. I hate it when we fight; I clutch my pillow in grief and think what a waste of a ready, warm embrace it is, and how you might be there instead. But then I realized I had misread your email! Blogs ARE for FAGs (Fuggers and Georges), and I am having trouble playing near the net on the tennis court. I feel so much better now that I know you weren't lashing out, but that, in fact, you were fixing your penetrating gaze on my soul. Do come here soon so I may squeeze you.
Subject line: Go [REDACTED] Yourself
Honestly do you have anything better to do than follow all the celebrities that you wish you could look one ounce similar to? You sit around your little trailer park and serf the web looking for pictures of celebrities looking bad to make your ugly ass self look better. If you had one atom intelligence you would find something better to do than sit on a corner waiting whoring yourself out for less than my left nut. To whoever made this website… get a [REDACTED] education and go [REDACTED] yourself because you are all pieces of [REDACTED]. Have fun in Hell. Peace up.
Did we know each other in another life? In the Middle Ages, when I was the lord of my own fiefdom, we used to love serfing -- finding some young serf girls, cuddling them silly! Were you one of them before being reborn as a man with an incredibly expensive left nut? Tell me if this sounds familiar to you: "Strumpet, discard thy boots and spread thine arms, that I might lay upon them in ultimate snugness." Ring any bells? Or how about the time I rubbed your tiny feet while we supped on mutton, and I told you were were 'vassals' of mankind's most perfect love, and you laughed and laughed because for two shining seconds you thought feudalism was funny? It is, you, isn't it? All that talk of trailer parks was just a test, wasn't it? To see if I'd recognize you? I would never forget someone I've clutched to my chest in the yoke of my loving arms.
You "mead" me who I am today,
Subject line: Your pretty to
I am aglow with the promise of what might transpire here. The stunning simplicity of that one word is so clearly an open plea for the comfort of my embrace. Never have I felt so needed. My purpose remains as clear to me as the first day these manly arms changed a life. Walk to the light, sweet soldier of brevity. Walk to me.
Marinating in masculinity,