July 5th, 2021 - My Apology

Dear TNY,

“My Apology” is fit to sit alongside your usual “we’re so fucking clever” literature that fails to actually be literature.

Is this story outright funny?  Nope.

Is this story ironically funny?  Nope.

Is this story funny in a wry, clever way?  Nope.

Is this story serious, in that we should assume that it’s very literarily minded and we should attempt to see its beauty?  Nope.

Is this story supposed to teach us in the way that dumbshit Rushdie story was supposed to?  I don’t know, but if it is supposed to, it failed in that regard.

I’m so tired of this shit.  Most of your stories feel like the kid in school who isn’t smart enough to see that the smart kids think he’s a fucking loser/fakejob yet the losers think he’s king.  This kind of literature is bullshit.  How does anyone write a fucking story in which pissing on a desk is fucking boring!?  It makes no sense.  And the worst thing about the pissing is that this story soils the word “micturating”, which was so brilliantly used in The Big Lebowski (“micturated” in that case, but close enough).  Like, that word will forever be associated with that rug (it really tied the room together, Dude) so when I see it appear here, in a story which stinks more than a thousand old and excised walrus cocks, I’m upset.

I just don’t get it.  Why publish this?  It isn’t anything.  It isn’t any of the things that it could or should be.  It’s just nothing.  It’s fucking dust on an old tube radio in an antique store in Plemons, TX that closed down 44 years ago after the owner died of pneumonia, not one piece of worthless shit having moved in that time.  And unlike an episode of American Pickers, nothing in this store, including this fucking veneer of dust, will ever be worth a goddamn thing with the application of time.

Also, it stinks like ripe cheese in this van after living in it for 30 days with my sons.  And I’m panicked about every little thing going wrong.  And I think maybe as I get older I’ll be so afraid of everything I’ll never leave the house unless I’m drunk, which I like to be.  Meh.  Fuck it.  Gotta go finish laundry.  Maybe squeeze out some “slippery acorns” as my youngest would say.  And use the whole roll afterward, like my oldest would do.

Also, I am looking forward to shitting in your building.

Huzzah!

Nick