Mailbag Vol. 2 Issue 8

By Jake and Glenn 

It feels like it's been years since the last time we did a mailbag but I would never make that actual argument with a straight face. Like me from 2002-2005, OYIT went through a dry spell recently and the readers's letters slowed as well. Now that we've received enough emails for a mailbag, we respond. In this issue you'll see lonely men and women desperate for human touch, in whatever form it may come. Plus someone asks if we smoke weed for our ideas.

I've been sending emails to you guys for a few weeks now but no one has published them or answered them. Are you getting my emails? How do you guys deal with incoming emails? Do you have a filter? Do my emails automatically go to your fucking trash folder? Have you ever been killed by someone you met on the internet?

Thanks,
Martha

It's been a while since we've done a mail bag. We've been really busy loading the site to the brim with ads. If we can make some money then I can finally afford to move out of my mom's basement. I'm not complaining. I get to drink all the Sprite I want, but it's impossible to get a date. To answer the other part of your question, no I have never been killed by somebody I have met on the internet, but a fortune teller envisioned that I would die that way. Thanks for the letter.

hey fuckheads,
what's up with all these fuckin ads? i mean, give me a fuckin break would you. i get enough ads at my job. i write ads for a radio station. what the--?

Why do you work for a radio station - the one medium even more obsolete and useless than a newspaper? Answer: because you need money. It's the same reason we have advertisements now. I can't give you a break unless you can give Jake a place to move besides the aforementioned basement. If you would be interested in writing some audio ads for us, read by famous Native Americans, please write in again. Otherwise don't write in again and we'd prefer if you listened to OYIT on the radio instead. We have a syndicated show every Sunday morning starting after the New Year where we list the top 40 songs of the week.

I love your website! Whatever happened to Heather and Ingrid? They both seemed like really cool women and I'm into women. I'm a man by the way - you can tell because I capitalize "I." I have a strong sense of self worth and am very aggressive. I'd like to meet the female writers from this website. Please tell me how this can happen.

I'm not sure how you can go about meeting the women who write on this website, but if you did you'd probably be bored with long stories about shopping and how boys don't like them.

I have no idea what has become of Heather. I heard that she witnessed a murder and had to be entered into the witness protection program. Ingrid will be making her return to OYIT as a regular writer to write Good Morning articles on Wednesdays. Maddie is a woman, too, and she'll cyber with you if you email her at maddie@oneyearintetxas.com.

i heard on an internet site that bret hart might be coming back to wrestling to fight vince mcmahon. what are your thoughts on this and will you debate it?

Jesus Christ (no pun intended), what is it going to take to satisfy you wrestling fans? We JUST debated whether or not Linda McMahon would be a good US Senator and I'm pretty sure Jake and Gary once debated which version of the Ultimate Warrior was their favorite. Mine personally was #4 played by John Tenta, but no one asked me. You didn't even ask me. Instead you asked if Bret Hart was coming back to fight Vince McMahon. If someone murdered your brother wouldn't you want to fight them? I know I would and I don't even have a brother. Just the memory of Owen Hart.

where do you get ideas for articles? who would ever thought of wishing people a good morning on a website must have been smoking a ton of weed. do you get your ideas by smoking weed?

This is the question we "most get," and by that I mean two people have asked it. The other is now dead, so what does that tell you about the wisdom of this inquiry? The idea of wishing someone "good morning" is barely even an idea as much as it is a natural human reaction to waking up and seeing someone, even if on the internet. I once heard David Cross respond to a similar question about Mr. Show with this thought: have you ever come up with any good ideas while high? It just doesn't happen. The best thing we came up with for this website while stoned was a weekly column about Fish Puns. We cod come up with more shit like that, but if we do you might have second thoughts about OYIT's moray down the road of puns.

merry christmas!! i'm a christian and i celebrate fucking christmas. why would anyone not want to celebrate christmas? it fucking pisses me off when these jews and muslims and atheists ruin everything for true Americans like me and hopefully you. what can we do to get rid of these people and fix christmas?

Ever since Scrooge McDuck was visited by those three ghosts and was scared into hating Christmas, the anti-Christmas sentiment has spread like a MILF's legs for a pizza delivery man.

I like Christmas, although I'm not a Christian. I get gifts, get to see family, eat food and drink liquids. What's to hate? I think of Christmas not as a religious holiday to celebrate the life of the lord baby Christ, but as a consumer's holiday where we worship the real lord, the almighty dollar. Merry Chri$tma$.

---

As always, send in your questions to mailbag@oneyearintexas.com.

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Good Morning [Christmas Already Sucks Edition]

By Katy

Christmas DID suck about five hours ago when I started writing this article, but that was before I actually bothered to check the weather radar and saw the bad weather was moving away from my travel route rather than towards. Christmas is about me, and now Christmas is awesome.

Today's Weather

Even though it's been raining for 35+ hours, challenging the open road through shields of unfrozen water will, in theory, be safer and less awful than the snow heading to the west. It's not good news to anyone working their way over there... but I suppose that's something you've already come to terms with if you're from Nebraska. As for everyone else in every other part of the country and/or world...good luck?

Today's Video

I stumbled upon a Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds album whilst looting a friend's bedroom one day and my immediate, obvious response was to scoff. But I decided maybe I should give Nick Cave another chance? I respect this individual's musical taste for the most part.. so I downloaded a number of songs (this being one of them) and even though Nick Cave still can't sing, I'm pretty sure this is the best song ever written. Case and point: "This is the weeping song, a song in which to weep." The overlapping minor melodies with Nick Cave's unnaturally flat, low voice provides a haunting, if not comical tune for all to weep to. It got me through a whole week without eating and I'm better for it. The perfect Christmas song.

Today's Theatrical Releases

It's Complicated

I'll just start off now by saying I'm not seeing this. I like Meryl Streep and even a little Alec Baldwin (playing the same character over and over and over oddly doesn't become exhausting), but the premise of this movie must be lost on me because I'm not an old, withered divorcee struggling to keep my affair with my ex-husband a secret from my recently divorced hired architect (Steve Martin) who's taken to fancying me and deciding whether or not I actually care to journey down the ex-road once more or explore this sappy new option. Need I say more? It's not so much complicated as a Yawnfest for the ages.

The Lovely Bones

The Lovely Bones is a novel written by Alice Seabold. I remember reading it first came out, in late middle school or early high school. It was a particularly dark book to read at that age because it's the story of a girl (about that age) who was murdered (and possible molested) named Susie. The entire story takes place from Susie's point-of-view, looking down on the world from her eternal resting place, a sort of "heaven" that's designed specifically for her. She basically watches her family go through all the emotions of losing a child or sister or grandchild, but she also watches her murderer as he covers his tracks and plans to murder another. It's actually very well written and the story moves along well, but I just can't imagine that transfers well to movie form. I'll watch it anyway. The book didn't mean anything significant to me so I don't mind seeing that emotional whirlwind yield across theaters. PLUS, when I first saw Mark Wahlberg's name attached to this flick I immediately assumed he was the murderer.. SPOILER ALERT: He plays Susie's father. I can't wait to see how he pulls that off.

Sherlock Holmes

Many of you have no idea that I've been complaining about the casting in this movie ever since I heard the name "Jude Law" because I don't talk to you or we're not friends. All that aside, why the frick is Jude Law playing Watson? I've seen my childhood mangled into pathetically tiny shards of waste before (you may remember my announcement about Leonardo DiCaprio is remaking The Neverending Story...so far no new news on that) but a thin, attractive, ponce like Law as Holmes' "go-to" man is beyond my comprehension. The summaries on this movie are few and far between, but I assume the duo will be searching out some sort of mythological creature to cast a spell on if about.com is right about Holmes' "revealing fighting skills" being "as lethal as his legendary intellect." I hope Jude Law proves me wrong. Oh yeah, Robert Downey Jr. is playing Sherlock, but that's probably workable. I should also mention Rachel McAdams; a extremely dynamic actress that afforded me the right to tag Ryan Gosling in this article. He is dreamy.

Today's Quotes of The Day

To help get everyone into the holiday spirit that you should already be in because the holiday is right now, I've asked a few people to tell me what Christmas means to them. Here are their responses:

Christmas is a jaded, corrupt holiday that people skew for their own selfishness. -J.S.

Christmas serves another reminder that my father never really cared about what I wanted but just gave me what he thought I would want. Thus, widening the void that has yet to be filled. -C.B.

Jesus died for this. -T.H.

Well I don't care about Christmas -Glenn

I hope that helps, but I'm certain it wont. Enjoy your Christmas!

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To Susan:

By Bryan

Enclosed you will find a USB stick containing “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” by the Smiths. Please import it into your media player of choice (it’s non-DRM) and play it as you read this. The song is rather short, so you might want to set it on repeat. At no time, though, should you read this without that song playing, or with a different song playing, even if it’s by the Smiths or Morrissey solo. Also, I used this USB stick for work, so if you find anything else on the drive, such as some spreadsheets or PowerPoint presentations, please ignore them. In fact, they’re technically company sensitive materials, and as you don’t work for my company, you’re not privy to them, so please delete whatever you see, to DOD spec (seven wipes).

Press play now.


Susan, you’re receiving one of several personalized suicide notes I’ve produced for this occasion. There is one master note that will be what should be published to the press (and which does mention you, by name), but people I think played a substantial part in my choice to end my life are getting their own personal notes. For years, just your mere existence has caused me endless suffering and misery, and I can honestly say had you died a while ago, I wouldn’t be at this point. But you continue on, so I cannot.

Maybe you’re wondering why I’m saying these things, and trying and failing to think of anything you’ve ever done that would have possibly caused me such grief. I’m not surprised: that’s the same old Susan, completely oblivious to others (especially me) and absorbed in her own world. Maybe you’re thinking that I was merely a casual acquaintance and we never had a kind of relationship that would merit this attention from me in my final moments. Once again, S.O.S. (which I’ve come to use in my journal as shorthand for “Same old Susan”), never considering others (especially not me) and always taking interpersonal relationships for granted.

You probably don’t even realize that over the past five years, we’ve spent a total of 27 hours together. Do you understand how much time that is, Susan? Probably not, because to you time is merely something to be wasted, and whose company you spend it in is irrelevant. But let me try and break that down for you: that’s 1620 minutes, or 97,200 seconds. Now I want you to do an exercise: close your eyes, and count to one. Now imagine doing that almost ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND TIMES, and you’ll have an idea of the true amount of time we’ve spent together.

Now that you have some perspective on the extent of our relationship, maybe I can help you understand the misery you’ve made me endure. See, Susan, I may only know you through Jim and Sarah, and our interactions have primarily been through parties at said friends’ home, along with the occasional Facebook message or email survey (which you NEVER respond to) but every moment we’ve spent together has been, for better or worse, monumental.

Remember when we met, at Jim and Sarah’s Christmas party? Probably not, you inconsiderate bitch. Sorry, I’m a little emotional right now; killing myself, remember? You probably already forgot that, too. But there was something special about that night; I thought we really bonded as the night went on. We talked about preferences towards modern Christmas music (post-1960) versus the “classics”; I told you about the different novelty Christmas ornaments I had growing up; and I even went and made you a cup of hot cocoa. Did you realize I made it, and that there wasn’t some kind of magical hot cocoa pot in the kitchen? That I took the time to pick out a perfect mug (did you even notice? It was festive, but reserved; not classy, but classical), heat it to the right temperature, add in the marshmallows at the exact moment where they’d melt slightly but not all the way, then cool it off for you to a digestible temperature. You probably thought that this just happened, but guess what Susan? Not everything just works out perfectly in this world; sometimes you have to work for things, not like you’d know anything about that.

Sure, that entire interaction was under an hour, but in some way it completely surmised and expressed the entirety of my existence. Birth, life, death, joy, sorrow, pain, pleasure, all contained within that bit of pleasantries and conversation. I know it was nothing to you Susan, and looking back I see you probably gave me your email address as a way to get me to stop bothering you without having to give me your number, but at the time it was some kind of penultimate moment that my life had building up to: the edge of the cliff, over which was either immaculate beauty or monstrous doom. Apparently, the latter was what I was destined for.

The rest of our meetings and communications consisted of much the same script: me making sacrifices, giving all of myself, you barely even noticing. Last month’s encounter was no different, and I would say that it was the proverbial “final straw.”

Another year, another Christmas party: this time, I’d say we interacted for a grand total of fifteen minutes, but had it been fifteen days, the only difference would have been the sun rising and setting. We discussed our mutual hatred of bluetooth headsets, our optimism for this new year and its multiple advantages over the last, and then I went to get you a glass of eggnog. Sure, it wasn’t the venture that the years' past hot cocoa was, but I made sure you once again received an appropriate glass, and I had to open a new bottle just to fill said glass. Then, after our years of playing this game, you couldn’t even afford me the simple pleasantries I’d been granted in past years. As I came back, glass in hand, I saw you, Susan, talking to Greg, sipping some OTHER glass of eggnog. Where you got it from, I have no idea (I noticed no one else in the kitchen, so I have to have assume it was that bastard Greg’s... hope you didn’t catch anything, you whore!) but what does matter was that as I stood there, egg on my face and eggnog in my hand, I knew I’d finally fallen over that cliff, and there was no other destination for me but down.

So here we are, Susan. You reading this, on the fourth, fifth, maybe sixth play through of “Please Let Me Get What I want” (though knowing you, you never even played it once, did you?), and me, lying here, my bowels released and my last breath spent. Maybe now you realize it’s all your fault, but somehow I doubt that. But I’ll know, and so will everyone else (that main suicide note does a great deal to implicate you as almost wholly responsible), and that’s satisfying in these last moments.

And I swear to God, if you don’t wipe that USB stick, I will haunt you and Greg for the rest of your days.

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