TO THE MERCURY: I want to know what I did to NOT get the fuckin' job as the receptionist in your office last year.

I want to know because I'm a few months away from completing my B.A. and would like to know what the fuck it is that turns off potential fuckin' employers from realizing my true fuckin' God-given talent, you bitches. This is coming from a person who has no money or connections and wants to break the class barrier in attaining a worthwhile job. So I thought I'd ask you guys, having rejected me and all.

What, in my application, made you decide I wasn't worthy of working for the Mercury? I couldn't answer your fuckin' phone calls?? I gave you a toothy blowjob??? What?!

I hope you're fuckin' happy with the probably-already-rich person behind your desk.

Joe Chifari (the guy from New York who is back in New York and living it up)


TO THE EDITOR: [RE: Music, March 21 and Letters, March 28 in which the writer makes disparaging comments about the rock band, Clinic.] I drove six hours to see Clinic in Vancouver, BC because of America's stupid drinking age. And it was worth the drive! There wasn't one wasted minute at the concert; very little time between songs, and the sound quality was amazing. And the best part about the whole thing was Clinic stayed in the same hotel as me, and I shared an elevator with them, twice! Good job recommending them, Mercury!



TO WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY: Leave my E.T. the fuck alone! ["Elliott Was a Jerk," Film, March 21] Elliott was a saint. The only worthwhile thing you had to say about E.T. was that Drew Barrymore was awful cute. The rest proves why you write about television and nothing of any intelligence. Your brain has become mush, you dumbass monkey balls for brains.

Maybe you were too busy watching crappy art films, but I saw it at a drive-in theater when I was five, and it had a lasting impact on my life. In today's struggle to seemingly not trust anyone, E.T. proves how necessary it is to show trust and kindness.

You probably have the Feds on speed dial in case you see someone suspicious in your neighborhood. By the way, television aids in paranoia. Turn it off once in a while and you might not be so stupid.

Joshua Cinelli


OH MERCURY DARLING: I want to applaud how ever-so-astute your assurance was that I would be sufficiently butt-rocked by a bunch of Jersey boys at the Blackbird Saturday night [Rye Coalition, "My, What a Busy Week!" March 28]. Now, I've been known to dole out the sugar when the way in which my butt has been rocked is pleasant. Still, never have my lips puckered so readily for a sweaty rock star cheek than for that Robert Plant meets Bon Scott, Eddie Vedder-looking front man for the Rye Coalition. Pure, unforgiving, solid, loud-ass sound abounded, leaving my ears throbbing with delight, and my heart reeling in the glory of rock and roll.

Since you have pleasured me so with this reaffirmation, you will be redeemed for nary a write-up of Doug Martsch's soul drenched solo at St. John's Pub last Sunday. For your commitment to good, old fashioned, head-bangin' rock, I will omit this glaring oversight from my big book of how it is.

Alice Hosty

P.S. To that chick in the "I LOVE New York" T-shirt who I spit beer on: If you read this, please accept my apologies. Sometimes I think I'm a rock star, too.


HEY LOOP-DE-LOOP: [AKA Wm. Steven Humphrey, Re: I Love Television™, March 28] Maverick and Goose (of Top Gun) were in the NAVY, not the Air Force, you retard! The AF is the squarest, john-q-hetero organization on the face of the planet. The straightest losers in my junior high school all joined the Air Force why? Because they were losers, that's why! And since when the fuck does the Air Force have aircraft carriers?! Jeezus! This has to be your worst screw up since your last appearance in paternity court! Ugh!

Tony Dawes

P.S. You're dead-on about Kelly McGillis flight instructor my ass! Try Bon Marche holiday temp worker.

CONGRATULATIONS to Tony Dawes, whose all-inclusive knowledge of homoerotica wins him the Mercury "Letter of the Week" and two tickets to the Laurelhurst Theater. Wanna correct or cuddle us? Send your letter to the address above and you could be our next winner!