teat

Check this business:

Date: Thur, August 28, 2008 at 7:23 AM
From: Bob [redacted] <[email redacted]>
Subject: Us
To: [supersecretfakeaddress]@coastertoast.com

Hay Baby
I think we should go out to night and maby i can go in (If You Know What I meen)

Love Bob

 I hate you, Bob. I hate you. Can you feel it? Does it burn like the STD you’ll never have because you’ll never, ever, get laid?

This is what is happening to our people, isn’t it? The whole human population is turning into these weird freakish things with no ability to communicate beyond the most base and inane blathering – and it doesn’t even have the self respect to at least TRY to follow some sort of standard.

The capitalization in this drivel amazes me. The spelling is something a first grader, or a small dog on crystal meth, could make a more valiant attempt at and the subject matter…

My personal favorite, however, is the final declarative statement: Love Bob

No, Bob, I won’t love you. I’ll hate you. I’ll hate you like Khan hates Kirk. I’ll hate you like Jayne hates Jaynestown. I’ll hate you like Ripley hates Ash. I’ll hate you like Robocop hates Robocop 3.

My hate for you will forever be epic.

It’s usually the mouth breather that sends in a response to our this-email-address-is-fake-and-you’re-an-idiot email that we post and tear into. That’s because we here at Coastertoast feel that only the cream of the crop (or bottom of the barrel, if you like) deserve the one two punch of having their amorous attempts bashed and then having their dullard responses posted on teh intarwebz.

I have to make an exception, however, and I think you’ll agree that this has to be done. I am actually sort of stunned at this email:

Date: Sat, Sept 6, 2008 at 7:36 AM
Subject: hi
To: [supersecretfakeaddress]@coastertoast.com
Hey betch, did you honestly think I was dumb enough to not know that papernapkin was made into coastertoaster?
Well, thanks for last night anyway.
So long and good riddance.

Let’s examine, shall we?

Firstly, what the fuck is a betch? Let’s assume that this hair-lip was in some sort of drunken rage at the time that this was written and  meant something that actual human beings have said at least once before in the entire span of history. We’ll give this a pass. Don’t worry, the remainder is where the money is.

Walk through this with me: You wrote an email to an email address that you KNEW was a fake email address. You wrote an email to this address telling the autoresponder robot that you weren’t dumb enough not to know that Coastertoast resembles very closely a previous service that offers fake email addresses that fools write love letters to to get smacked in the face.

You didn’t write a snide insult to the Coastertoast crew, as we have gotten in the past, telling us how fucking stupid you think we are, you wrote an email to a fake email address to tell the person who gave you the fake email address that you know it’s a fake email address.

Are you fucking kidding me?

This is a joke. There are cameras hidden at Coastertoast HQ and this is all going to go on Youtube, isn’t it? There’s going to be a video of me spitting out a half chewed mouthful of eggs and bacon, shitting myself – really shitting myself, I mean with actual poop -  and falling out of my chair in a seizure caused solely by the sudden understanding that someone as righteously stupid as the person behind this email exists.

This feeling is like what you’d imagine it to feel like if you met God and he peed in your mouth.

Thank you, original email sender – whose email address ends in .com.au – for reminding me that your entire continent is the result of England not wanting to deal with your specific and laser guided brand of dumbfuckerry.