From: [name redacted]

Date: January 17 2009 1:40 pm

Body: “hey, i dont think that we have ever spoken. im ****. youre john. im sorry for the fact that i have to take time and energy out of my life and waste it speaking to you john. its come to my attention that you have given me the nickname of “chocolate queen” while to you this is funny, maybe harmless, and i realize that you are probably the most insensitive human being sliming his slimey way around on this earth…”

Ok. Let me back up for a second. I got this e mail from a friend of mine’s girlfriend. I’ve never met her, let alone spoken to her face to face. I was actually skeptical she existed for a while, because he never talked about her. Something I did know about her though, was that she was part black; which is cool.

He got shipped off to Iraq recently (as you’ll find out in the rest of the e-mails) thus leaving our only form of communicating through back and forth e-mails, and the occasional time we would both be on messenger together. Through e-mail banter about politics, awesome foods, and the shelf life of peanut butter, I gave his girlfriend the nickname: “Chocolate queen” or CQ for short.

Now, I may be white, I may be an asshole, and I may have been known to call people names, pointing out their shortcomings that I found funny, but racist I am not. I actually thought that this nickname was a compliment! Hell, Jake never got mad about it, why should I think anything is wrong?

Black people are always calling themselves, “sexual chocolate,” “chocolate thunder” or whatever. And girls are always calling themselves, “queens,” “princesses”, and “fairy god mothers” (that last one may not be true, but agree to disagree). So why would CHOCOLATE QUEEN offend anyone? Unless you’re an albino man… you probably wont get offended at that nickname.

Fast forward to January 17th 2009, I’m at the gym playing some racquetball, when I get a text from Jake via instant messenger:

“Hey dude, uhh CQ hacked into my myspace and read some of our conversations. I guess she got pissed at your nickname and wrote you a hateful e-mail.”

So many thoughts were running through my head at this point:

1) What’s the score to my racquetball game?

2) What could she POSSIBLY be mad about?

3) Is Top Chef on tonight? (fuck you all, I watch Top Chef!)

4) What the fuck is she going to say to me, that could possibly hurt my feelings? Tell me I smell? Or my parents don’t like me?

FACT: I do smell, like 45% of the time.

FACT: My parents DO like me… They tell me every time they write me from jail.

I go home, plop my sweaty body down into my computer chair, and immediately open up CQ’s email. Now that you’re caught up, here’s the rest of it. Fuck it, I’ll send you the full thing again so you don’t have to waste time scrolling up.

“hey, i dont think that we have ever spoken. im ****. youre john. im sorry for the fact that i have to take time and energy out of my life and waste it speaking to you john. its come to my attention that you have given me the nickname of “chocolate queen” while to you this is funny, maybe harmless, and i realize that you are probably the most insensitive human being sliming his slimey way around on this earth but there is absolutely NO reason for you to be talking about me. joking about me. catagorizing me. you dont know me. i dont know you. one thing i do know about you is that you dont care about ANYONE but yourself and you actually enjoy knowing that your actions cause others pain. well CHEERS TO YOU JOHN big john for being such a BIG FUCKING PERSON. have a nice fucking life. i hope you get all that you deserve. i hope all the negetive ugly energy you put into the world finds itself right back into your life. although youre such an ugly fucking person that you may just enjoy it.

dont fucking talk about me. ill return the favor. i want nothing to do with you and for some reason your like a fucking pussing wound that keeps popping up in my life.”

After I stopped laughing and the pain in my side subsided, I realized she sent me another e-mail.

Subject: have you ever heard of a bot fly?

Body: “Because they honestly remind me of you. <3″

I then had to google “bot fly” because I am not as up-to-date on my insects as I thought I was. And what do I see?

Some dude’s eyeball… and other flies and maggots of sorts. Borrringgg.

How could one person be so mad at being called a CHOCOLATE QUEEN? Most of my friends confirmed that she is a psycho, and she pulls out the race card like a referee at a soccer game. One of those girls that gets pissed if you repeat a Chris Rock stand up and it may perhaps have some words she doesn’t like. One of those girls that gets pissed when you say “you people,” in a harmless way. I could go all day here, but I have school to attend.

Now, I was going to just ignore it, and go about my business. But, I found out that she cheated on my friend several times the second he left for Iraq, so I decided to squash her…

[The only background information I knew about her was that she had no job, which as you all probably know, is a big no-no in my book. I apparently got a couple other things right about her... I can spot a depressed chick who needs to be on Zoloft like I can spot a toupee!)

My response:

"Heyyyy ****! Sorry I couldn't reply faster. I had to go into work... ughh the hassle that work can bring! It's too much sometimes, you know what I'm talking about right?
Right?
Wait... no you don't, because you in fact don't have a job. Must be nice. Your how old? If I was to venture a guess, strictly through your retort, I would say 11, maybe 12. I've never met anybody my age who uses the word "slimey" [sic] twice in a sentence.
Oh, [sic] means you fucked up somehow in your writing. I will go through them and correct them for you because I understand it’s hard to use the shift key to capitalize your sentences when your boiling with hate over the fact that I call you “chocolate queen”. Which–not to defend myself, because frankly like you said I don’t care about ANYONE but myself (which you were correct in saying)– I only called you that because I didn’t know (or care) what your real name was. You don’t matter to me. You are someone who was getting fucked by a good friend of mine, and from what I hear by a couple of other people at the time too.
You are sort of correct in another point too, (damn! your on a roll girl, put that shit on your resume! So now under accomplishments it will say 1) Wasted little time in being a cheating whore once my boyfriend left to defend my country. 2) Was correct twice in my whole life) you said I enjoy knowing my actions cause others pain. I do enjoy knowing my actions cause those WHO DESERVE IT pain.
Who deserves pain? You ask… Well, Rapists, cheating spouses, dumb little girls calling me out while they’re on break from their community college classes, hippies/vegans, people of different ethnic backgrounds who throw out the race card anytime a white person even THINKS about “catagorizing” [sic] them, people who have zero self control or respect for themselves and reach for the nearest sharp object/anti depressant anytime they hit a rough patch, and Jews of course.

As you can clearly see, you fall into almost every single one of those categories; so I would say my actions of trying to “cause you pain” are validated.
You are a pretty funny girl though, I like how you said in the BEGINNING of the ramble you have no time to talk to me, then you restate it AGAIN at THE END of it. Yet, five minutes later you sent me ANOTHER message; saying I reminded you of a fucking FLY??? Good one, retard, let me know the day you plan to kick the chair out from under yourself. Also at the end of your little rant you say “for some reason I’m like a “pussing” [sic] wound that keeps popping up in your life.”
The REASON, my illiterate, jobless, defender of all that is good and pure, friend, is because YOU hacked into Jake’s MySpace, read his conversations to ME, then YOU messaged ME telling me I like to kick children or some shit. But wait… then YOU message ME AGAIN!

The reason, girl, is because you took time out of your busy schedule of MySpace and hating yourself to message me. “OH MY GOD!! The REASON he keeps popping up is because I keep MAKING him!”
Cue: Mind exploding.

So now I’m going to go back to eating Cashews, running over Seagulls (by the way, next time you talk to Jake tell him I ran another one over today at work, he’s going to laugh, TRUST!), making little suicide threatening girls sad, and emitting my “negetive” [sic] energy into this beautiful world of ours.
You, instead of replying to this, can go continue to wrap your lips around strange guys members, drink yourself into a depression, try to cut your toes, not work and whatever else you do to fill that void in your life, that the guy in the park with a present in his pants couldn’t fill.

Toodles ****! ”

What did I learn from all this? Top Chef WAS on that night… but it was a re-run…

• The Telly