I’m influential. Here’s proof (that I fabricated).
Many of you have probably noticed that I’ve become quite the cultural leader on Medium.
In fact, some may even say that I’ve become a literary God among illiterate apes (my words, not theirs).
As you would expect, I get a fair amount of fan mail from my devoted readers, and to prove how influential I am, I thought I’d share some of the letters I’ve received without the authors’ permission, and respond to them with words.
Bask in the evidence of my greatness!
Dear Mr. Joe,
Please stop writing on Medium.
Your writing is shit.
Your writing is like something a shit shat out.
Your writing is like something that got caught in a shit-fire, and someone tried to put it out with wet shit.
Your writing is the writing of a madman with explosive diarrhea-shit. I don’t think there’s medication for whatever brain shit-disease you have, but Ex-Lax might help. But probably not.
Anyway, please take my advice. I have guns.
Sherman Shitman, Plumber Extraordinaire
You address omnipotence, Shermy. Tread carefully before I put a pox upon your house. A pox made of caca. SHITTY caca, that is. Also, it’s DOCTOR Joe to you, you provincial hick.
For more toilet humor, check out my previous story:
Dear Word God,
When are you starting a religion?
I’ve been reading your Medium gospel for many years now (since at least March 2019), and was wondering if you had any pamphlets I could peruse or newsletters I could subscribe to?
You already have a devoted fan club (I’m the only member), and I’m totally ready to quit my job as a professional billionaire and travel across the country to spread your room temperature literary dogma across the stale brains of infidels. Make me your itinerant preacher-bitch!
You see, it’s been my lifelong dream to serve a false idol, and I think you’ve got just the right amount of quackery to help me cross this item off my bucket list.
So what do you say? Are you ready to become the L. Ron Hubbard of the blogosphere? Just say the Word and blood will spill in your name — I have guns.
Bowing down to you,
Hmmm. You know, I’ve been thinking about achieving godhood for a while now. Plus, when I tell people that they address omnipotence, I’ll actually be able to mean it. Alright, Derrick, you’ve got yourself a deity! I’ve got a shopping list of people who need to be smited because of…um…religious reasons. Let’s get started with that, shall we?
Dear Mr. Big-Shot-Medium-Writer-&-Emu-Farmer,
Keep your ostrich knock-offs out of my yard!
They’ve been wandering around eating all of my elderberry bushes, fornicating with my garden gnomes, and taking dumps the size of ’73 Buicks in my bird bath!
I’ve left you threatening messages on your answering machine, sent you homicidal texts in the middle of the night, and even put some letter bombs in your mailbox to get your attention, but you keep ignoring my pleas for civility and pristine landscaping!
Writing to you on this lousy platform that brain-morons put their stupid words on seems to be the only way that I can reach you, so this is your last warning: get your goddamn dromaius novaehollandiae clan out of my Mafia family meeting space or I turn you into swiss cheese, in the sense that I’m going to shoot you with a lot of bullets and then you’ll have a bunch of holes in your body, like said cheese.
P.S. I have guns.
Oh, I’m sorry, Gar. I’ll be sure to get those emus wearing wires for the FBI out of your yard just after they’ve got enough evidence. In the meantime, I’ll see if the witness protection program has any vacancies. Again.
And there you have it. If you’d like to write me letters praising me as your new god, offer my father dowries for my hand in marriage, or simply remind me of my obligation to various assassins, deposed genocidal dictators, and mafia bookies, well then, just do it already.
Fare thee well, my lowly minions.
For more evidence of my celebrity, check out my previous fan mail segment: