Dear John Hugo And Samson Racioppi:
I hope this blog finds you well, and not engaged in a feverish rage-circle-jerk while you prattle on about how totally NOT gay you are. When I invited you on our show, I was expecting more of a super happy and fun conversation about fighting back against identity politics through the art of the troll, and less of a grating whine-fest with two dudes dressed like they just finished up brunching together. I’m sorry it didn’t pan out that way. Please, tip your stylist on my behalf, truly. You. Looked. Fabulous.
Like a totally not-gay Jehovah’s Witness and Miami Vice extra. These two never, ever swipe right on Grindr. Not. Once.
I know that I need to apologize, thoroughly and sincerely. I know this because since the show, you have flooded us with your expressions of extreme chagrin and offense.
I’m so sorry we hurt you, John and Sam. Please, grab yourselves an extra-large box of Kleenex for your cries, and Tampax for your bleeding lady organs, and let me extend my most sincere remorse.
First and absolutely foremost, please let me say, I am truly sorry for my insensitivity. I can see that we hurt you, particularly Sam. He’s been so open and honest about his complete and utter butthurt. Repeatedly.
I’m so sorry for offending your soft and delicate feminine sensibilities, boys. I am, in fact, a female myself. I should have known better, I should have had so much more empathy for your plight. Here, let me help.
Is that soothing? I do hope so. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for asking you if it makes you gay if it’s your buddy sucking your dick. Immediately after I asked the question, your response let me know that I struck a raw nerve. My apologies, but let me explain – this was not asked with ill intent. Due to your very serious, very meaningful civil rights work on behalf of the mere 96% of the population that identifies as heterosexual, I regarded you as experts in the sexual-orientation relations field. And, please forgive me for foolishly assuming you would know this – but that is a timeless philosophical question originally posed by one of the most relevant cinematic moments of our time.
I’m sorry the reference eluded you. In the same vein, I’m sorry that you were also gravely offended by my insinuation that regardless of sexual orientation twenty-dollars may be twenty-dollars. Another careless faux-pas. When I saw that sharp blazer/T-shirt combo, I thought I saw a man endowed with razor-sharp style and financial savvy. My mistake. Please, accept my most humble apology for that one.
I’m sorry that we misinterpreted your Straight Pride Parade efforts as a charade concocted to make a clever point about the histrionics of the far Left. You see, you adopted their language so adeptly, we thought it was in jest. I now see that you are, in fact, very serious in all your crying about oppression. You clearly feel it’s unfair that the gays get to sparkle and shine in the spotlight while you languish away in the darkness, forced into suppressing your uncontrollable boners at every attractive female that passes you on the street (your words paraphrased, please know that we were listening.) On second inspection of your parade and carefully hand-picked Grand Marshal, I can now see how foolish it was for us to simply assume. Look at this guy,
The picture of the heterosexual status quo. I’m so very sorry we assumed it was a joke. Please, calm your hysterical ovaries now.
I’m sorry if we compounded your feelings of inadequacy by downplaying your very important movement. I’m so sorry if you felt we mocked your very real oppression and suffering as dudes who get chubs from looking at boobies, living in the most freedom-loving and prosperous nation in the world. Please, let me make it right, by assuring you, I’m certain you disappointed your parents at some point in your life with your incessant whining about your heterosexual experiences. Just as much as if you introduced them to your fiance, Steve.
I’m sorry that Bret “The Killer” Killoran told you that (and I quote), “A lot of people like pussy, you ain’t special motherfucker.” This is not in tune with the current climate of “everyone gets a trophy.” Let me assure you, my little rays of sunshine, you are special. So very special. You deserve a parade, maybe even your own Olympics. The sky’s the limit, buttercups.
I’m even more sorry that I did, in fact, put that shit on a t-shirt, now available in our store.
I’m sorry that our language was too crude and vulgar for your demur and delicate sensibilities. I’ve spoken to the boss, and he assures me, we will all be receiving sensitivity training in the very near future, so we can better be cognizant of our language in the presence of ladies.
I’m sorry that we questioned whether or not you were being assaulted due to your sexual preference. Truly. That was extremely ignorant on our part, because the answer was abundantly clear. You’re being assaulted because you are insufferable pricks who speak in an octave most insufferable to the average human ears. I’m sorry we even brought that up. I hope your boo-boos heal quickly, and you receive adequate therapy to overcome your fear of glitter.
Assault is never O.K. It’s just a lot less sympathetic when you actively seek it out. Shame on Antifa for not only being a group of violent sociopaths, but for taking your bait every time. What a bunch of dumb fucks.
Furthermore, I’m sorry that we didn’t see clearly at the time the brilliance of your assertion that the only way to combat the sexualization of our children in public schools is to….bring up more sex. But heterosexual sex, of course. I, too, simply cannot live in a world where my children aren’t thoroughly educated in the joys of lights-off, shirts on missionary sex for procreative purposes only, and as early as possible, too! You’re so right to assert this is normal, this idea fixes everything! I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. I’m also sorry for insinuating that the gays should impart glittery “surprise adoptions” on the hundreds of thousands of children abandoned by their heterosexual parents currently in the system. You were right, and I was wrong. They deserve the dignity of languishing in the myriads of foster homes they get shuffled around in. How foolish of me to so much as suggest otherwise.
I’m so sorry that Uncle Turtleboy rudely barged in to our sparkling and enlightening conversation about your myriad of self-centered complaints, only to ask questions about heterosexual sex. It was an ill-informed blunder, as he didn’t know until you informed him that you know nothing about heterosexual sex, and then promptly rage-quit for the slight. It was foolishly presumptuous of him to assume that two dudes sitting practically on top of each other in suit jackets would be a part of that conversation, Straight Pride be damned.
I’m sorry we never circled back around to the topic of Brad Pitt’s thick package after you brought it up. It sounded like a topic you were very enthusiastic to discuss. My apologies that the conversation got so derailed.
And, of course, I’m sorry that I replied to your scathing email in response to me trying to smooth over your upset and extend our assistance in raising money, mocking your fundraising follies and warning you not to invite me to “throw my nuts on the table.” That was mean, and surely did nothing to soothe neither your tears, nor menstrual cramps. Don’t fret, the aforementioned crude phrasing is not in fact an admission that I am BLT-123, you can put any potential awkward boners away. It was a vulgar metaphor, meaning that in matters of wit, emotional fortitude and influence, I’m definitely above you. Not because you’re not special, oh no, please don’t start your sobbing again. Simply because you failed in both being offensive and humorless, in quite the epic fashion. And here I am, in one fell swoop, accomplishing both, without even smudging my mascara. Yours, on the other hand, is quite apparently running down your soft, voluptuous little cheeks.
And for that, Sirs or Madams, I am deeply and sincerely remorseful. I’m so sorry. It just breaks my heart that we can’t be friends, because I checked my little black book just now, and under the “Whiny, self-important man babies with ambiguous sexual urges” section, it’s entirely blank. Regrettable, due to my careless and unconscionable behavior during our live stream, that’s how it will remain. I’m just so very sorry.