Howdy again buddy,

How’s it going?

I heard you had fun last night on at the party.

Wanna catch up later?

If overpopulation is ever a true detriment to the progress of the planet, and the time comes to do away with the useless people, I will put forth the following recommendation to whatever high court of decimation there might be.

The person in question is possibly obsolete if the first of the following statements is true, and most certainly obsolete if both of the following statements are true:

1. He or she uses a Bob Dylan lyric as a signature.

2. He or she misquotes said lyric.

just checking to see how you doing? hit me up.

The ‘toast email address sells this. This dude was out like a shot. I don’t know what lead to this, but bro’ got out of that butt-quick and this poor divotchka was left with a sneeringly obvious Coastertoast email addy and maybe an exciting case of the panty crickets.

Mmmmh… panty crickets…

Oh my gosh! That is so funny. Almost as funny as the fact that the guy had only one leg. ONE LEG! EWWWWW! The only reason I even asked for an email was so that he wouldn’t think that I was prejudice against icky one leggeds. Hey, I’m not complaining. I’m glad the disgust is mutual. Now I dont have to sit through his boring stories about his grandma and how sitting to pee, because he has only one leg, makes him feel like less of a man. Good one.

I’d like to leave it at that. Just leave it there. There’s funny in there, so it seems like something I could get away with posting straight up and go back to the nefarious soul crushing activities that usually surround my Saturday afternoons, often referred to as “Splatterday” by those who know me.

Even so, I just can’t get away from the keyboard without pointing out that the premise here, that this broad asked Mr. McMissingleg for his email address as some sort of altruistic act – a karmic savings deposit, if you will, is stunted immediately by the fact that she did indeed WRITE an email to him, and did indeed include her full and complete name in said email. Dashing.

I’d also like to point out that, if you’ve been keeping up with the ‘toasts, there seems to be a string of the disabled using our fair service to fleece otherwise potential associates. I’d like to toss all of you cripples a big up for passing your pain on to the unknowing masses. Distribution of wealth, you know?

Wealth of hate.

I suppose this is a pretty good summary of you: you get all the amputee pussy, so you think that you can prance through every situation like a ball, like you’re some GADDAM Prince Charming looking for his one-legged Cinderella.  Why don’t you admit to the world you’re wearing it like a badge to disobey the basic rules of sex and partnerships? Fucking every girl in the area doesn’t make you qualify as a whole man, and those thighs are connected to someone who may or may not pity or sympathize with you because we all share a common disability of the heart. You’re going to realize one day that the real thing that you lost is your humanity, asswad.

Dear Coastertoasters,

Understand that I had to contemplate long and hard over whether or not I would post this one. This is your pretty standard fare when it comes to gushing. It’s a little flambouyant, if anything. But I have my reasons for putting this up:

1) Material has been lacking lately. It’s all two-word insults and confused babbling. Where all my creative-yet-hopeless chumps at, y’all?

2) I don’t really give a shit what part of society the email represents. Give us your disabled, your unfortunately overweight, your drug-addled and dysfunctional masses; you’re all the same to us.

3) “Amputee Pussy” ?!? I could have left out the rest of the email and only posted that. Coastertoasting GOLD, I tell you!

I saw your profile. You didn’t accept me as a friend… whatever. But you look unhappy as usual. You know we’ll run into one another. Isn’t there some rule about giving friends of friends fake numbers and email addresses? I guess you just think that a) you can avoid me forever or b) the awkwardness won’t even phase you. I’ll still submit friend requests to you, hopefully you’ll have me once the sadness sets in this winter. I know what it’s like to be lonely. 

Not the worst email we’ve received, but still… this one creeps like a vine.

my mother died. i am her only daughter. do you know what that does to somone? she died and thats why i was out drinking and thats why i talked to you. there is no way i wuld have talk to you oterwise. i was weak and you took advantage of my weakness. my mother can see you now and she kows what you did and that you did it to hurt me. ur a asshole.

May 11th is going to suck for you. Best of luck to Somone. Tell her, in your otter language, that we at Coastertoast are thinking of her and your mom and how she probably died at the frustration of trying to make you not write like a protohuman.

Wow, that’s cold. Are you just dicking me around? I know where you work, you know. If you don’t reply to me seriously I am going to come in there and make a scene in front of everyone. Try me. 

I think this is a female, but then again, I can’t be sure. The body of the email isn’t anything special. No overt stupidity or rampant spelling and grammar errors, and the threat is commonplace to say the least. But I just had to offer this one up to the Coastertoast Gods because of that priceless subject line. I can just imagine the poor dog sitting cross legged in this person’s apartment because its owner got freaky with the leash and now can’t take it for a walk.

I just wanted to make sure wedidn;t do anything unsafe last night.

Just get with me as soon as you can, ok? I would really appreciate it. Liz says I got pretty wild.

There is a lesson in this, to be sure. Think very seriously, next time, before you type “wedidn;t”. You don’t want to look like an idiot when you’re writing a confessional about your promiscuity to a robot.

You think you can get away by hiding behind a pasted letter? You don’t just hit on people and then dump them off like their trash the next day. Not unless you want your ass beat.

You think your the only guy I met sunday night? You think your the biggest? How about we meet at [redacted] next sunday and see who comes out smiling. Bitch.

1. What the hell is a “poroloid”?
   
2. Is grammar even a concept on your planet?
3. I am willing to bet he was the only guy you met; why else with the email business?

Wanted to show you a trick I learned in art school. Involves my tongue doing things that you need agenetic enhancement for. Promise you’ve never known anything like it, and you never will.Chump.

Should we officially begin a “Mutant Bitches Scorned” section? Seriously, what kind of genetic enhancement is this chick talking about? The kind you get from standing in front of a microwave?