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No undies here
Dear Mr. Nugent,
In response to your piece "Yourope," we would like to thank you for your submission before saying that the piece does not, unfortunately, meet our current needs. The writing is fraught with enthusiasm, but I feel it is held together by a narrative and vernacular that remains decidedly inaccessible to this editor.
You begin your piece strongly; I was particularly intrigued by your detailed account of packing for your trip. You capture the anxiety of preparing for a trans-continental voyage with elan, although I found your decision to "free-ball" it for the flight a bit unnerving. Do we need to know this kind of minutiae? I feel not. Furthermore, if, as you maintain, you were flying into Barajas airport in Madrid, I was confused over your notion that upon arrival you were going to "punch a Mexican then maybe try to take a dump because I get nervous and can't shit on plane trips." If this is your idea of hyperbole, I don't think it works in this instance and doesn't really fit with our tolerant credo.
Furthermore, upon your arrival, you fail to mention whether or not you punched anybody--Mexican, Spanish or otherwise. As for the dump, I can suspend belief to a point. Your segue from the "horse-shit excuse for a Big Mac" you had at the McDonald's along the Gran Via to missing the "minority-free pussy" of Concord, Michigan while regarding Notre Dame (For your files, the "retarded guy who lives in a bell" must be a reference to Victor Hugo's classic work of fiction, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, who is neither retarded nor resides in a bell, but I'm sure that, perhaps due to jet lag, you just became a little confused or were perhaps suffering from apoxia or garden variety mongloidism.) was at best choppy and bordered on non-existent. Was there nothing of note during the rest of your tenure in Spain? You make brief mention of "a pretty sweet beach where sluts wear thongs," but I'm still unclear as to where this is. Barcelona? San Sebatian? Nice? The reader is left in the proverbial obscurité.
I wish you had bigger titties
As for Paris, is "the headless bird-woman with smallish tits" you refer to the legendary Winged Victory (Nike of Samothrace) housed in the Louvre? You mention that "museums are for pussies," but I'm not clear where it was that you wrote the word "boner" on the "ass of the armless bitch." Are you suggesting that you graffitied the buttocks of the Venus de Milo? I must tell you that if this is the case, I am appalled, utterly. However, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, as one portion of your piece seems to evince the fact that you are not an abject moron.
"Der Worte sind genug gewechselt, lasst mich auch endlich Taten sehn!" you exclaim and I could not agree more. Enough words have indeed been exchanged; it's time to see a more active approach toward globalization and cultural understanding. Oh, wait. It has just occurred to me that you have lifted that particular musing from Goethe's Faust. I should have recognized earlier that this was a shameless pilfering of Germany's greatest poet, as you later claim that "Mein Daumen Schwanz ist flamenwurfer" is a phrase that "never gets me any trim." Perhaps you will be interested to know that your claim, "My thumb-penis is flamethrower" will probably never get anyone any "trim." I will not even justify your comments on your friend "Heidi in Hamburg," as I am thoroughly convinced that A.) you are lying, and B.) this poor woman did not, as you assert, "dig on slobbing my knob in Hitler's bunker."
Nice thumb-penis
I found the conclusion of your trip in Italy fairly predictable. Your remarks on "hangin' brain all day" while you sat on the Spanish steps eating more "suck-ass pizza without shit for cheese or meat stuffed in the crust" proved to be more of the same philistine rambling you exhibit throughout the duration of your piece. And while the puzzling inclusion at the end of your piece of a poem entitled "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" (was that even intentional??) was certainly unpredictable, I found it was too late to redeem your piece.
Again, we thank you for your submission and wish you exceptional luck in placing it elsewhere.
I love the strategy. What are some of the alltime worst closing songs with a chick? Some nominees:
Me So Horny-2 Live Crew Fucking Hostile-Pantera Something Tells Me I'm Into Something Good-Naked Gun Soundtrack Find em, Fuck em, and Flee-NWA One Way Out-Allman Brothers Gave You What You Wanted-Ike Turner
Posts: 1118 Rank: 9 Joined:
3/13/2007
Location:
My Cubicle, CO
Posted: 5/14/2007 12:15:41 PM
Yea I was thinking the same thing, I was just hoping nobody else new that. How about this caption instead:
"Does this mustache make my nostrils look uneven?"
Vert Game: Playing anything from Dragonforce would be a pretty good closer to guarantee it was a one nighter. No chick likes a dungeons and dragons nerd and they would probably go home and shower repeatedly a la Ace Ventura after the revelation.
Posts: 96 Rank: 46 Joined:
3/16/2007
Location:
Kansas City, MO
Posted: 5/14/2007 12:16:28 PM
is one of the scariest people on the planet. Not because he's a hyper gun toting manimal, not becuase he films every hunting situation that he can, not because his wife is a 50 something hotter than most 25yr olds.
Its because he acts like that and isn't high on anything. There's something basically wrong with that.
Psycho X blood and guts + infinity = Ted's show, Spirit of the Wild.
Posts: 1375 Rank: 10 Joined:
12/7/2006
Location:
savannah, GA
Posted: 5/14/2007 12:17:18 PM
the toadies - tyler ween - piss up a rope misfits - die, die, die my darling *and depending on the girl, this last one can really ruin things the outthere brothers - i wanna fuck you in the ass
Posts: 2036 Rank: 5 Joined:
2/27/2007
Location:
Ventura, CA
Posted: 5/14/2007 12:17:20 PM
I too am a HUGE fan of Mr. Nooge.
I printed this article out, took it to the shitter and proceeded to read it while I evacuated last night's chicken and mushroom soup. When I read the line "missing the "minority-free pussy" of Concord, Michigan", I started laughing out loud, which assisted in my purging efforts. Needless to say that whoever the man with the brown tasseled loafers in the stall next to me was, must have been really discomforted by the fact that I was laughing, shitting at high decibels and saying "Oh shit".
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