April 28th, 2025 - Tortoiseshell

Dear TNY,

I’m late again, with reason (no further elucidation), and I just finished “Tortoiseshell” and I don’t give a fuck.

I’ll keep this short because I could say the same shit over and over again (and have):

You fuckos don’t know fuck from shit and we are all so fucking sick of your fucking short stories about writers, writing, and/or writers writing.  I’d love to do AI-based research with all your stories published under Debbie T’s tenure as “Master Curator of Dickturd Short Stories” so that we’d have real data to show how repetitive her selections are, but life is more important than that to me.  Like, I’d rather eat hot peppers and wander out into the world, not knowing where and when I’ll have horrible, urgent diarrhea than read more of your fucking garbage.

So, here’s to another week of wasting everyone’s time with programming that’s akin to Jimmy Fallon or, who knows, the color “puce”.

Nick