Douglas B. Bruzzone and Michael Matzke

Dear Goth People,

We know you’re probably crying your lame goth tears all over this letter, and we just wanted to let you know something: no one cares about you. Not your mom, not Trent Reznor, and certainly not these Two Classy Gents, because the last time we checked the Cool Kid Calendar, it wasn’t 1995. Your stupid black fingernails and stupid black hair never fit into this happy-go-lucky world, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of killing you, we’ve decided to decimate your culture, one overly emotional man-child at a time.

First off, you make our mall experiences quite stressful. We just want to go to Sbarro, and not feel uncomfortable because the kid sitting next to us in the Food Court is about to attempt suicide. You’re bluffing, and you know it. The only people who take six sleeping pills at a time are old people and Courtney Love. It’s pretty pathetic of you to not even wash it down with vodka, but your McFlurry.

Stop blogging about your childhood for a second and listen to us, stupid. We know you sucked at handball, we know you refused to hunt in The Oregon Trail because you were a vegetarian, and we know your uncle “did things,” and whatever. We’ve been through a lot too, like when we shot over 5,000 pounds of endangered bison in one hunt but managed to only bring back a measly 300, and that was after we bartered all our clothes for bullets. So goth people, why don’t you just die of typhus already?

We don’t know if your mother and father were just drunk when they named you, but the following list of names are unacceptable for people in general: Damian, Deathy McKillington, Tylor, and Montel. We’ll let Montel-the-talk-show-host slide, because he really tells it like it is. And your trenchcoat is wayyyyy too long. What’s in there buddy? Puppies? Bombs? We already told you, it’s VERY UNCOUTH to be a party pooper/popper, especially if you’re blowing up puppies. Besides, it doesn’t go along with your “aura,” or your millions of piercings. Maybe your bf/gf thought your Prince Albert was cool, but it makes a god-awful mess in the bathroom.

Oh yeah, we forgot to tell you. Korn just called. They said they wanted you to roadie for the band, and let you hang out and be friends with them forever. They also said they were lying, and that they sucked, and that you sucked more than them. Sorry.

All we’re saying is this: stop it. You’re trying to bring attention to yourselves by pretending to die, so let’s just end all the suspense already.

Classy:, for posting unbelievable pictures of beer can monuments and the Two Classy Gents

Uncouth: Ruining a warm Thanksgiving dinner by getting goth blood all over the stuffing

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *