DEAR PORTLAND MERCURY: I write to you in hopes that you will insult me. My request is the result of a trend that I noticed: First, Phil Busse questions the credibility of the Willamette Week's coverage of the Goldschmidt scandals (News, "Eyes on the Prize," April 7), then a writer at the WW wins a Pulitzer for that very story. Next, editor Wm. Steven Humphrey refers to Eric Idle as "the least funny member of Monty Python," a group which he also accuses of being unfunny (Film, "Pigskin Postmortem," April 26). Less than two weeks later, Monty Python's Spamalot, with lyrics and book by Eric Idle, sweeps the Tony Awards. Although I am not currently nominated for any major awards, I would like to request that someone at the Mercury put something negative about me in print so that my odds of winning one will greatly increase, as seems to be the trend. Maybe a Nobel Prize in literature for this letter?
MAY THE FORCE KICK YOUR ASS
TO THE IMPOTENT, SACKLASS, BASTARD HOLE ["I, Anonymous," June 2]: I'd like to take this opportunity to address your complaint about the two guys who talked through Revenge of the Sith, apparently ruining your six-year anticipated nerdgasm. For many of us, "I, Anonymous" is an important part of our lives, allowing us to vicariously give a solid (though metaphoric), erect middle finger in the direction of societal scourges like loud cell-phone talkers, petty thieves, and the granddaddy of them all, non-shit-picking-up dog owners. I'd like to disingenuously and sarcastically THANK YOU for ruining my "I, Anonymous" experience because you lacked the scrot hairs to simply turn around and tell the loud movie talkers to shove their mock lightsabers up their pimply geek asses and shut the fuck up.
I'd like to ask you why you waited six long years to watch a movie and then let two assholes ruin it for you without pulling your pea-sized man melons out of your mamma's slipper. And then I'd like to ask where you suddenly found the ball sweat to bitch about it in the Mercury. It's called self-advocacy. Darth Vader is pretty good at it, I'm led to believe. So, instead of anonymously bitching to all of us and hogging the "I, Anonymous" column, find the courage to NOT sit though three hours of two guys fucking up your space orgy, and instead do whatever it takes to shut them up, including farting in their popcorn yourself.
THE SOUTH WON'T RISE AGAIN!
DEAR MERCURY: I come from--an extensive--hillbilly lineage with no less than three cousins who claim to be related to Ronnie van Zant. (If you ignore them long enough, they'll tune back into ESPN.) But three weeks now with the hillbilly bullshit? [Feature, "Guns, God 'n' Swimmin' Holes," May 12; Feature, "Boys of Southern Rock," June 9] It was funny for a second, but that second has passed.
Southern rock... is dead. Nothing else. I don't mind reminiscing about the good ol' days of CCR and Lynyrd Skynyrd, but that is a stage in American music that has passed. Just like there aren't anymore good authentic grunge bands around anymore.
CHIMPS: THEY AIN'T MONKEYS
TO THE EDITOR: Just when I think this is the only paper in town that has a fucking clue, I pick up your paper and look at the cover and could not believe my eyes. First I see a picture of a cute chimpanzee doing cute things on the cover. Then I look over next to it and see, "Five years of monkeying around." [Cover, Anniversary Issue, June 2]
Now c'mon, if you are going to trash the poor, uneducated white man, at least know that a chimp is not a monkey! Let me give you an easy way to tell the difference. One has a tail (monkey) and one does not (chimp, ape, gibbon, orangutan). You guys can do a lot better.
CONGRATULATIONS TO BRYCE for winning the Mercury's Letter of the Week and for, once again, providing us an opportunity to talk about the difference between a monkey and other primates (chimpanzees, orangutans, apes). How many times do we need to explain this? Monkeys wear human clothing, bake cakes, chatter their teeth, bang on musical instruments and pose for Mercury photo shoots! Chimpanzees toss pooh around their zoo cages. For his misinformed, but well-intended science lesson, Bryce wins two tickets to the Laurelhurst, a $30 gift certificate to No Fish! Go Fish! and two tickets to see Lucero at Dante's on July 15.