Dear Miss (name withheld),

Glad to see you enjoy my site so much. Whenever I recieve e-mails of your caliber, it warms my heart. I feel like a toaster was surgically implanted in my bosom. A great, big toaster. Oh, yes.
Now, even though your frequent spelling errors and improper grammar made it difficult to understand your oh-so-respected opinion (I care what you think; honest!), I am skilled in the art of deciphering that timeless language known as Moronics. No, no, your witty thoughts of "that's because you're a moron yourself" have no truth to them. For the real reason I am skilled in the afore-mentioned art is because I am forced to deal on a daily basis with the very paragon of moron: the upper-middle class white "gangster."
So, now that I've gotten the introductions out of the way, let me respond to your e-mail. First, you told me to (and I quote) "grow up" due to my e-mails that I sent to Kittie. Well, mission accomplished! I am, in fact, growing up as we speak. In fact, I have been growing up for the past eighteen years. Scary how everything works out like that, no?
Second, you said that the reason I haven't gotten laid yet is because I would talk him/her to death. Not true, I say! You see, I am, in fact, a loser. During the average day, I hardly talk at all. I have no friends to talk to and I would rather jump naked into a pool of broken glass than initiate a conversation with a stranger. So there you go.
Third, you state that my interview is made up. Well, I ask you: what tipped you off? Could it have been the sentence at the top of the page that says "it is all fake"? I think it waaaaaaas, I think it waaaaaaas.
Fourth, you claim that if Kittie were to read my interview, they would beat me up. Well, if you noticed in the interview: they DID beat me up! I have the cyber scars to prove it, too.
Fifth, you asked where my sick mind comes up with the stuff on my web page. Well, you see, I entrapped a gnome that was living in my rectum for several years and forced him to write everything on my site. How did a gnome get up my rectum, you ask? Well, it all started when I was about seven years of age. At the time, I was heavily into a genre of music called "polka." You may have heard of it. Anyway, I was learning to play the accordion, when, one day, I happened to spy a large box that had been sitting on my desk for quite some time. I had never noticed this box before and it came as quite a surprise to me when I finally saw it. It was big, green, and decorated with characters from the hit television show "Dif'frent Strokes." I opened the box to find the afore-mentioned gnome. He had survived by eating his poo, excreting again, and then eating his poo again. It was a large, disgusting cycle. He was quite angry at me for not having let him out earlier. So he grabbed my accordion and swish! He made his new home in my anal cavity. For several years, every time I farted, I would play the accordion. It was fun and enjoyable, but I tended to over-do it. Needless to say, the smell got to be unbearable. So, using an ancient style of Kung Fu that, loosely translated, is called "Big Wang In Mouth," I shot the gnome out of my buttocks. The accordion came next. I then re-trapped the gnome in a bunny cage and have forced him to write funny things for me. For example, it was he who wrote the entire third season of Seinfeld! But I took credit for it! Bwah ha ha ha!! So, blame him for the stupid things on my site.
And now for something completely different. I'll stop with the sarcasm and just blatantly taunt you. (note: for dramatic effect, the following paragraph will be in all caps)
YOU DO NOT FRIGHTEN ME, ENGLISH PIG-DOG! GO AND BOIL YOUR BOTTOM, SON OF A SILLY PERSON! I BLOW MY NOSE AT YOU! THPPT! THPPT! YOU EMPTY HEADED ANIMAL FOOD TROUGH WIPER! I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION! YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER AND YOUR FATHER SMELT OF ELDERBERRIES! DAPPY ENGLISH MAN WHO HAS THE BRAIN OF A DUCK, YOU KNOW! I, ONE MORE TIME, UNCLOG MY NOSE IN YOUR DIRECTION, SON OF A WINDOW-DRESSER! YOU THINK YOU COULD OUTWIT ME WITH YOUR SILLY KNEES-BENT RUNNING ABOUT ADVANCING BEHAVIOUR? I WAVE MY NAUGHTY BITS AT YOUR AUNTIES, YOU CHEESY SECOND HAND ELECTRIC DONKEY-BOTTOM BITER! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, ENGLISH BED-WETTING TYPE? I BURST MY PIMPLES AT YOU AND CALL YOUR E-MAIL A SILLY THING, YOU TINY BRAINED WIPER OF OTHER PEOPLE'S BOTTOMS! NOW, GO AWAY OR I SHALL TAUNT YOU A SECOND TIME, ILLEGITIMATE-FACED BUGGER-FOLK! AND IF YOU THINK YOU GOT A NASTY MOCKING THIS TIME, YOU AIN'T SEEN NOTHING YET, DAPPY ENGLISH POOF SNIFFER! THPPT! THPPT!

Have a nice day,
-Trent