Your Article Barely Sucks

I squatted over Your Band Name Sucks: 50 of the Inexcusably Worst for far too long without anything coming to mind. Then it hit me -- or hit something. Or something.

Dear Mike;

Your article cannot be accepted to a magazine, and it's important that you understand that inevitability as much as I do; I all but decided that straight-away, however.

Your command of the English Language is amazing for an American: you navigated the tricky waters of 'your' and 'you're', a treacherous strait which claims the hopes of so many ignorant empire-quitters before they even realize they're no longer making sense in any language. You toss about language terminology like you know what you're saying, and to many of your friends and family you are.

The problem is you still write like a secondary-school drop-out instead of a primary school drop-out. You need to learn to write like a real adult; and then you need to make it interesting.

I'm sorry you had to hear the news from me, in addition to that portion of the Internet's population which lives outside of America.

Sincerely,

I should also disclaim things further: I know I can't write, and I know my writing is shit when I do scrawl aimlessly on walls, children and weblogs. The difference is that I don't need my writing to be anything other than shit, and the writing in this article seems to be directed at some editor specifically, in the hopes of landing a job.

I do hope that, once the dust has settled, I can still biggie-size my happy meal. Or something. You see what I'm doing there? I'm suggesting you work at McDonalds and Burger King, because those are the only thing more common than Starbucks in your country. And I'm drawing attention to my weak joke because that's another form of humour. I'm taking the piss on myself, which I'm sure means something entirely different in your country.