I have never spoken to you before, in fact I never particularly liked you because you're quite ugly and/or you do things on the Internet that I don't understand. Nevertheless, in my immeasurable stupidity, I have attempted to create a website of my own. It is quite hideous and only functions 50% of the time and now it's broken because I am a tottering moron when it comes to technology.
Could you find in the depths of your crack cocaine-addled heart the charity to fix my website and/or build me one for free, because clearly your expertise has no value to me and is not worth a nickle of my sincerity? I will pretend to be willing to offer you compensation, but because I know you are an altruistic person who cannot stand to enter into business engagements with friends who are in need, you will reject my offer thereby making this arrangement absolutely and solely to my benefit.
Yours insincerely,
Tottering moron
AnonymousDear Tottering Moron,
Why when I was opening my emails this morning in the vain hope that I may be contacted by a true friend, my long-lost lover, malevolent aliens, or government agents, I was delighted to find your stupendously insincere message imploring me to do your bidding solely and absolutely for your benefit, because as we both know I am an altruistic person who cannot possibly resist doing a favor for someone in need.
Since it is the case that I spend my Friday evenings contemplating suffocation by an inert gas while mixing cocktails for myself until intoxication causes me to pass out in a drunken stupor, surely I cannot blame you for supposing that I would rather solve your problems than lay in a catatonic state experiencing the incalculably dull sensation of loneliness in the lightless hell that is my apartment.
Kindly engage in a thought experiment with me. Imagine that my toilet is overflowing because I have flushed too many of my drugs down the drain and the sewer system will no longer tolerate my substance abuse. As I lay on the bathroom tile drowning in toilet water, I suddenly have the brilliant notion to call a plumber at random and ask him, “Dear Mr. Plumber, my toilet is fucked up because I am a tottering moron. Do you have any free advice to offer me concerning my fucking around with it using this wrench? Or perhaps Mr. Plumber, whom I slightly revile because you spend the majority of your time perched over a porcelain bowl of feces, you could donate your time to my fantastically idiotic cause, as your expertise with pipes is not worth $60 per hour?”
Yours sincerely,
A Wumpus.
