Open letter to loser

Disclaimer: More Cracked Chancla opinion that is not pretty.

Dear Loser,

I meant to get this to you sooner but I have been insanely busy and the internet company was taking their sweet ass time coming out to get things going. Its been a long week, between moving and opening up a business. My husband thinks he saw you at home despot with your father, he said he was mad at you and was screaming at you, " que traes en esa cabeza?" But in your dad's defense, I hear that you looked pretty stoned and weren't helping him out much. But I digress....

On Monday morning, I saw your chicken scratch on the new school sign.















I cannot begin to express how upset it made me. I was so angry at you and I'm still kind of feeling annoyed, this wasn't like the time you wrote on the garage or the sidewalk at the house. This was different. I went home and grabbed the camera and took a picture of it--not sure why but I felt it was necessary to photograph it so that maybe, just maybe if I got to tie you up to a
chair, gag you and then bitch slap you I could wave it in front of you and ask, "Que tienes en esa pinche cabeza idiota....puto, holgazan"

While I was taking the picture, a man walked up to me. "Que lastima verdad?" I agreed. He said he was one of the huelguistas that gave up food for days so that you could have this school. (Yes, it was more than just mothers. I think they pushed the whole mother thing for PR purposes.) "Lo hicimos para que ya no andaran en estos caminos," the man said sadly and told me he had two kids. And I felt very sad. We went on to discuss that they would be able to sand blast your doodling and we both hoped that there would be no permanent impressions of it.

I'm happy to report that by Tuesday morning the writing was gone, but it could not be removed completely and you could sort of tell that it was there. Its like a horrible wine stain on a white cloth--it never truly comes off. There's a dark smudge on the brick that reminds us of your pathetic presence.

I'm tired of the politically correct excuses some people make for your behavior. A few have told me, "Well you know they didn't get enough hugs." A crime like this merits that someone get to chop your fingers off in a public square, maybe at the next big event at Plaza Garibaldi. There is no excuse for this behavior. I grew up with the same type of environment you have. If others were able to grow above it why can't you? Your generation got teachers that were a little more sensitive and didn't ask stupid questions like, "Oh my god, what do you mean you don't drink eggnog for xmas?" Or that assumed, "Jesus? Who named their baby Jesus? That's not right, we are going to call you Jesse." I understand that by the time you got to kindergarten there were more teachers that could pronounce your name and shared the same customs as you. So there should have been less hurdles for you.

Loser, I know that circumstances will force you to outgrow this phase. At some point you may have trouble finding a job. Please remember what you did before you blame employers for not hiring you because you don't have a high school diploma. If you are lucky you may find a woman and have a child and move out of this neighborhood because a lot of people like you always determine that they got to escape 'this place' to the suburbs to get away from this mess. When
I was about your age, families were fleeing to Cicero and Berwyn--now they are looking further out because the plague you carry has spread to those areas. And when you find that the quality of education is far from ideal for your son or daughter please, again, take a moment to
remember what you did. You can move on, I promise we will not miss you. But remember you get to move away only if you get lucky. Don't let those restless fingers of yours get trigger happy, or you may end up in jail just like the little punk that killed my friend. Its been over ten years and I still mourn his loss because he was actually on his way somewhere, he had been told by teachers that he wouldn't make it but he told me once, "I can't wait to go back and show them." No one expected that a short trip to the thrift-store for grungy attire for that hip 90's look could cost someone their life. According to some court his life was only worth thirty to forty years....

Loser, you poor excuse for a human. Don't take this the wrong way. But I just can't wait until you go away.

Sincerely,
Cracked Chancla