HOPE FOR THE FUTURE DIMINISHED
TO THE EDITOR: I was on the bus today and found a copy of the Mercury newspaper.
Answer a question for me. Do your mothers come get you at the end of the day,
or do you sleep over? It has to be written by 14-year-old boys. I was 14 once,
and I thought a lot like the juvenile garbage I read in your paper. Please tell
me there is no market for this stuff. My hope for our future was diminished today.
Robert
The Mercury responds:If one issue was enough to diminish your
hope for the future, then please, for the love of GOD, don’t read the rest of
this letters section
I LOVE THE FUCKING JICKS
HEY EDITOR: The Mercury is a decent and fucking funny publication, but
this TRENDY-rocker shit is getting on my fawking nerves. I went to see The Jicks
last night and to my surprise (sarcasm) they were not boring straightforward rock
[Up & Coming, March 7]. So okay, Pavement was rad, but give credit where credit
is fucking due!!! S.M. wrote the fucking songs in both fucking bands! So they
aren’t fucking golden gods live, but do you really want to see a band be all fucking
slick?
Oh, and a message to all those hipsters that give me the evil eye when my
band goes to get coffee: EAT A BAG OF DICKS, YOU TRENDY ROCKERS!
Trav
IN DEFENSE OF FILTHY TRENCHMOUTHS
DEAR MS. LAUREL TREE: [Re: Letters, March 7, in which Ms. Tree decries the use
of dirty words in the Mercury.]
You fucking prude. Why don’t you get off your high horse (or is it high chair?)
and crawl back under the package of Pampers from whence you came? If you are
offended by the Mercury‘s use of epithets, here’s a heads-up about something
else you should avoid reading: any play by William Shakespeare, who portrays
“low-life characters” using such “vulgar language” as “bastard” and “wench,”
as well as innumerable penis jokes and sexual puns. Also to be avoided: Ralph
Ellison, Mark Twain, and nearly every other literary giant in history. We applaud
the Mercury‘s use of the vernacular. You can’t go to an Andrew Dice Clay
concert only to gripe about the foul language, and you can’t read the Mercury without expecting any less than the continuance of the long-standing literary
tradition of using the language of the people to describe the people.
the Nead-Butzes
JULIANNE IS “RETARD-IANNE”
TO THE EDITOR: Wow, Julianne Shepherd has topped herself [“Changing the Streets
with the Beats,” Feb 28]. Apparently it wasn’t enough for her to hunt down and
kiss the ass of every hiphop group/mc/graffiti artist that makes the mistake of
coming within Portland city limits and therefore into her remarkably narrow yet
pretentious little head. (Word to Julianne, YES, there was hiphop before you deemed
it cool enough to listen to–about six months ago, as I recall.) Now she goes
and makes up a goddamn word to describe it! “Edu-tainment,” was it? Or was that
“Info-cation?” I’ve got one for you! How about “Retard-ianne?”
Embarrassed for myself and all the other white girls out there who like hiphop,
but aren’t Julianne Shepherd
BRING ME THE LEG MUSCLE OF PHIL BUSSE
DEAR MERCURY: My issue of the Merc is damp and the ink is running
because of all the tears I’ve shed over the blatant omission of News Editor Phil
Busse from your stoopid “Leg Muscle Death Match” [“New Column!” March 7]. Alas,
I wondered, how is this possible? And then it hit me, this just reeks of the jealous
Editor Wm. Steven Humpy. I begged for a yule time centerfold of the obviously
talented Mr. Busse, but no. I was more than thrilled to see his ad for Honey Suckle’s
Lingerie (which is framed on my desk as I write this), but this is not enough.
We need more photos of Phil!!! His leg must be included in the Death Match. Put
Phil’s leg where your mouth is, or you’ll lose one very avid reader!
Daniel
Okay, Daniel!You win! Not only do you get a disturbing photo of Phil
Busse, but you also receive two tickets to the Laurelhurst Theater for writing
the Mercury “Letter of the Week!” Got a letter filled with filthy invectives
lying about? Send it to the address above and you could be our next winner!