To: the supermodel on public aid in front of me at the grocery store
From: the sick of paying for stupid fucking people like you Dirk Mancuso

Hi. I don’t know if you remember me — I’m the guy who stood in line behind you for nearly 30 fucking minutes while you whined, held your head in both hands, and waited for angels to come from on high with $107.58 to pay for your groceries. Yeah, that’s right…I was the guy in the Green Lantern t-shirt who just wanted to buy the watermelon and the SOAP OPERA WEEKLY. And who would’ve guessed that Y&R’s Sharon Case’s life is so dramatic off screen as well? And yet despite personal problems, do you know what Sharon Case does? She works for a living. And while obviously you don’t have the talent to get a job on a daytime soap opera — trust me, your “oh, I really need these groceries” monologue left a great deal to be desired — you looked pretty goddamn svelte and healthy to me in your daisy dukes, red gingham halter, and crocs, shaking that mane of chestnut hair that would make Eva Longoria sob with jealousy. So instead of moaning about the fact your fucking LINK card had locked up and “you” couldn’t pay for the cart of groceries, maybe you should be looking at other ways to procure money. And as if the fucking production you put on over my tax dollars not being available to you at 11pm wasn’t annoying enough, I was doubly pissed off when you finally gave in but tearfully told the cashier you had opened the Smart Water and been drinking it while you shopped and couldn’t pay for it either.

Smart Water, huh? You might want to think about soaking in a fucking vat of that shit, babe — then again, maybe I’m the one that needs to be drinking it since not only am I paying for your groceries, but also paying higher prices for my own food because of people like you who eat shit before they (can’t) pay for, and then mosey out to their 2007 Tahoe and drive off, all the while complaining to their friend on their Razor phone. God, how it must suck to be so impoverished.
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To: the bitch with 3 screaming kids at Barnes and Noble
From: the single gay man who would make a better fucking parent than you Dirk Mancuso

I love kids. I love their sense of wonder, the way their little minds work, the way they approach a problem. Know what I don’t love? When they run all over the fucking place, screaming like goddamn banshees, and knocking over shit chasing each other. Let me give you an example: if a bookstore expects me to pay $28.95 for a hardcover, it better be in fucking pristine condition. Know what isn’t in said fucking pristine condition? Oh, the 3 copies your imps knocked over, denting the corners and tearing the dust jackets of as they played tag by the new releases. And since you seemed oblivious to their fucking guerrilla warfare, it was up to me to help bring them down to earth. Literally…thanks to a well placed foot in front of that little fucker in the Transformers shirt (God, how I hate Optimus Prime). Now for any sane child, that would’ve slowed the little fucker down…but not those spawn of yours. That only seemed to spur their crack fueled frenzy to new heights as they burst into insane peals of laughter. Finally, having had enough of their antics, I took my purchases to the register where those crazy lil sons-a-bitches chased each other around me, having the sheer fucking audacity to TOUCH MY LEGS AS THEY TRIED TO AVOID EACH OTHER. See, when the mayhem hits that level, that’s when your executive powers get taken away, bitch, and strangers have to start calling your brats out on their shit. Which means you are therefore stripped of your power to play the “don’t talk to my children like that — they’re just being kids” card, thereby allowing me to play the “if you can’t control the little bastards, quit squeezing them out every week” card followed by the “it ain’t no trick to get pregnant and it don’t make you special — even dogs can do it” card. And you can also forget the getting all huffy and looking tearful shit because the other people in line laughed. It wasn’t me that made you look like a goddamn fool — you did that all on your own, heiffer. Step off.
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To: the freak who answered my ad on gay.com
From: the longing for a baby but not an adult baby Dirk Mancuso

It’s no secret I long to be a dad. To a child. Not someone who sends this shit: “Hi, Dirk. I’m a 48 male with blond hair (with slight graying) and blue eyes. I’m 5 foot 11 inches tall and I weigh 180 LB. I am looking for others that are into AB/DL… I wear diapers 24/7 and really don’t care who knows it. I’m opened minded and hope you are too. Could you be the daddy I’ve been dreaming of?” Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Nowhere on my profile did I mention any interest in wiping your ass or giving you your num-num so you could go take a nappy. And while I’m sure that there are plenty of folks with a keen interest in playing at that shit, I’m not one of them, dumbass, so keep moving. Jesus H. Christ — whatever happened to guys with an interest in good old fashioned rope and duct tape?