Letter of Sympathy from DaManDaMutt12345

Good morning, daters. We at the F’n Rad Dating Site feel that we should be accountable. We must bring you all some horrible, shocking news. It seems that our potential dater, MelonHoneyDewYou, has passed away. In a service down by the river, she was remembered dearly by Uncle Billy, Daddy, Mama, Grandpa, the ancestors, the family bluegrass band, Aunt Jewel, her plumber brother, her preschool friend Bob, her sister who wears crop tops, the hairspray lady from the west side, Mamaw, and the neighbor Sally. Let us pause to reflect.

We’d tell you the particulars, but we’ll keep it to ourselves out of respect for her family. Never mind, here goes. As we all know, Melon was openly seeing our other potential dater, DaManDaMutt12345, and we are pleased to know she found true love before she died. It seems that Melon was on her way to the recording studio to pick up Mutt while he was finishing up fresh Phil Collins mixes, when poor Melon lost control of his souped-up Hyundai, and she rolled it three times. But that wasn’t what killed her. She crawled out of the twisted, burning wreck, dusted herself off, and headed to the Newport on the Levee, where she became enamored with the man from the zoo holding the boa constrictor as a fun display. Of course, brave Melon asked to hold the snake, and the boa took a liking to her, and that snake hugged her close, but she threw it down and chopped it’s head off, so that wasn’t what killed her either. After Melon caught her breath, she decided to catch a movie, on account of the “choice snacks,” like her man always said. Melon became slightly carried away with the popcorn/twizzler combination, which formed a hard ball in her mouth, and she swallowed that ball of petrified goo, and it lodged just so in her throat, and she lost her life “choking like a DNA daddy on Jerry Springer,” her tanked Mama said later. We are sorry to see her go. Please send the family and DaManDaMutt12345 your condolences.

Her potential man, the skater, DaManDaMutt12345, was gracious enough to write a sympathy letter to Melon’s Mama, and we’d like to share it with you now, as we feel it is an appropriate example of how to write a compassionate sympathy letter. Read and learn. Sincerely, and with sympathy, the entire F’n Rad Dating Site.

Letter of Sympathy to Melon's Mama, from DaManDaMutt12345

Dear Melon’s MILF, one liquored up Mama who gets me:

Holy shit, Mama, you’re ripe, you know wha I’m sayin? Baby wipe your pits, you feel me? I have a truckload of the choice unscented Pampers I lifted from the IGA, yo, and you’re at that age when you can’t trust a fart, like when I’m comin’ down from the China White, and I have no idea how I might toss out my insides, so I feel you, and I’m comin’ to save you like Aquaman rising up from some goddamn paradise ocean.

Whaddup Mama? I'm real fuckin’ sorry that bitch Melon is gone. We both know she might be in heaven, which is something like a drained pool you wanna hit with your brother all night – no cracks, no drains, no falls – just a nonstop smack party like no other. Now don’t get all wussy on me, Mama. You skate, you break bones, you die. We all know Melon’s in a better place, organic or some shit, but fuck, now that I think about it, we really don’t know that, do we? I mean, that tithouse chick, aka Planet Nipple, could be stuck in a Chuck E. Cheese in the sky, and we’d never really know. I’m just glad that fuckin’ horny bitch’s suffering is over, because you and I both know she was hitting the snake man as a side order, along with that white-haired bony girl at the car dealership. No more than a lost dog, but on account of the way she sucked down curly fries, maybe she’s inside a superdeluxe Rally’s or packed tight in a Happy Meal Neverending Story now. I believe in the Big Fat Man in the Sky, with his super creepo divine dick. Actually, not sure if she’s better off. How the hell would any brother know that for real? I’m sure you and the fam are full of sorrow and grief but get your ass up and have some funtimes. Find some ugly baby, call it cute. Put those supersuds and salts and squishy balls in the bathtub and shine your ass like you’re E.T. waiting for the mother ship. Hit the mall and get pedicures. Wax yo’ legs and soup your face up with toxic mud or get horny and find a choice cucumber and ram it home or some shit. I’m sayin’ you need to chill like a beast, ‘cause we all get sad and want to Dragonslay some skater who hit the pipe first, but from what Melon told me, you need some relief, because you are one crazy motherfucker.

Mama, hear me – Melon will always be with you deep on your insides, wrapped up in your intestines like a pile of worms, like you’ll be constipated forever, trying to push her fat, decaying self out your wrinkled hole; I don’t know if she’s happy about that or not, because when she was alive, she sometimes didn’t really want to be with you, but now her ghost’s stuck in your ass like a monster, skeleton turd. Her goddamn spirit will be part of you no matter where you go, even when you and the fam start burning your couch and hitting the T-bird. I know that you hoped for more time to spend with her, like an Easy Lover, but really, that was codependent as all hell, and every last brother at the skate park backs me on that action. But the sunset all-you-can-eat buffets you hit meant so much to her. She puked it all out on me when we were down at Newport on the Levee hunting for chicks and threesomes at the bowling alley. Just know that she loved you as much as those supersize bags of Lucky Charms, when she didn’t want to kill you, even that year when you were chubby. I know you will miss her insanelike, because, without her you will have to take a look at the failings in your own sad life.

Anytime, when the rooster screams or when the dope boys come out of the alleys, hit me up at the studio, the skate park, or on da live chat. Text me your digits, especially if you see some skinny cat lubed up and ready to go. With my deepest sympathy, sorry I missed the funeral. My friend Grinch fired up that new Mission Impossible flic. Tom Cruise is for real, spider-climbing those skyscrapers smoother than any superhero, even Batman, who kills it with that magic, supersonic car. 

Sorry for your loss, Mama. I’ll get at you later when I’m not so high. I’m more girly when I’m coming down. Yo, I’m here for your ass, any time you need me - just to listen, or to talk, or if that sister with the smokin’ abs feels like having insane grief sex.

Christ, Tom Cruise. What fucking stamina.

DaManDaMutt12345

-- C.A. MacConnell

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We at the F'n Rad Dating Site have been on a brief hiatus, due to receiving some tragic news, which we will keep to ourselves. Never mind, we'll tell you tomorrow. Stay tuned. Until then, here's a word from our sponsor.

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-- C.A. MacConnell