You were never physically attractive to me; you are neither graceful nor beautiful, and you evidently know nothing of the laws or properties of beauty. Otherwise you could not have sent me such a picture, as it could only disgust me.
Lafcadio also fired his publisher, Harper’s magazine, with this great letter:
. . . liars, — and losers of MSS, — employers of lying clerks and hypocritical, thieving editors, and artists whose artistic ability consists in farting sixty-seven times to the minute, — scallywags, scoundrels, swindlers, sons of bitches; —
Pisspots-with-the-handles-broken-off-and-the-bottom-knocked-out, — ignoramuses with the souls of slime composed of seventeen different kinds of shit, — Know by these presents there exists human beings who do not care a cuntful of cold piss for ‘their own interests’, if it is indeed to their own interests to deal with liars, scoundrels, thieves, and sons of bitches. Know also that there exists one particular individual, whose name is at the end of these words, whom all the money of all the States of America and Mexico could not induce to contribute one line to your infernally vulgar beastly goodey’s-Lady’s- Book-Magazine, — you miserable beggarly buggerly cowardly rascally boorish brutal sons of bitches. Please understand that your resentment has for me less than the value of a bottled fart, and your bank-account less consequence than a wooden shithouse struck by lightning.
— A Fantastic Journey by Paul Murray , pg. 133
Now there is a writer who wouldn’t put up with shit!
Previously at Mike Cane’s Blog: