An Open Letter to an Open Mouth that Need be Slapped Shut

15 Apr

[It’s been a while (if at all) since you, my dear readers, have been privy to a rant of Rabbity proportions.  You’ve been warned.  This got me so hot under the collar that my warm fuzzy had to come off.]

This is exactly why I had reservations about Treme.  It’s nothing to do with the show.  I actually like the show.  It’s to do with the viewers and their mouths.  Yeah yeah.  Free speech.  Opinions.  Horse shit.  Whatever.  Suck it.  This went all over me.  I am sure this particular incident has been addresssed already, but with the mass amount of coverage regarding the show, I am just now coming across it.  Yeah, I’m slow on the uptake – damned real-life – but I had to get my two cents and “Hey Lady, fuck you” in.
Allesandra Stanley of the New York Times (whose subscription just got promptly cancelled), a vapid writer at best whose usual fare celebrates the glory of Glee, Kirstie Alley’s girth, and all things American Idol (so, consider the source), had this to say in a review of Treme

“The effort to get New Orleans “right,” to do justice to the city’s charm, its jazz tradition, and now its post-Katrina martyrdom, is at times so palpable it is off-putting, a self-consciousness that teeters on the edge of righteousness.”

I beg your mother fuckin’ fat pardon!  Did I just read what I think I did?  “post-Katrina martyrdom”?   How dare you.  I really had to pick my jaw up off the floor on that one.  And no, I am not linking to the OP.  I refuse to give this douche nozzle any more traffic than she already gets.  Google it.
My Southern charm, hospitality, good graces, and manners have done gone right the fuck up out the window.  Forgive me or fuck off.  I’m pissed.  I wish I could see this gal face-to-face and tell her just how it bad it smells.  And wipe a big ol’ wad of stank up under her nose.   My response goes something like this:
Dear Mouthy Yankee Bitch,

Your words echo from the heights of the pedestal of privledge – wobblin’ around up there in your cheap ass Manolo knock-offs with a silver spoon lodged sideways up your Bedazzled twat.  Don’t talk about what you don’t know.  You watched a TV show on a network best known for its programming about aging Bags of Ho and cock sucking vampires.  Honey, just shut the fuck up and go sit down somewhere.  If I had a Mama, she’d slap your mouth.  You come across as nothing more than the Fattie on the playground trying desperately to “get it” and “fit in” so all the Cool Kids will stop using your nappy ass head as target practice. 

Let me let you in on a little secret, bébé, it aint workin’!

When all y’all up there decide to get over your own Post 911 Martyrdom, give me a shout, girl.  Maybe we’ll follow suit.  Until then, you mourn the loss of all your folk that our government murdered in your way – and leave us to mourn ours in ours.

Preferably with your hifalutin Yankee mouth closed for repairs.

Cheers,
Rabbit


[We now return you to your irregularly scheduled, somewhat more pleasant, and vaguely less fuck-flinging bloggery.]
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2 Responses to “An Open Letter to an Open Mouth that Need be Slapped Shut”

  1. Vencora April 15, 2010 at 9:21 am #

    i was informed most recently of the fact that people can now bedazzle their twats. i think i'm frightened. or perhaps intrigued . . .

  2. G.D. April 17, 2010 at 1:31 pm #

    “post-Katrina martyrdom”? Holy headfuck. Who says that about a city and it's people recovering from a devastating disaster with massive losses. No wonder you were mad! Good response. – G

Comments are closed.