On Foutteccini's Lugubriosity:

Dear Benjamin Foutty.

I have at once become utterly discombobulated with the stakes at which these blog posts may ascertain. It seems pernicious that not only have I purposely populated these literal practices with precedent of a prose unattainable my many of my haters, but also with a titch of tired repetition, ultimately lacking a diversity that your fancy may be tickled under. My pet, I wish you only to find my work a gallant gantry of the gangrene Humbert Humbert grasps, not to be taken under pretenses which perpetrate penniless princes gallavanting bitches the likes of Lo across metaphysical and nymphic borders.

Adieu,

e que les etoiles brille toujours,

DeMarco Murray