The following open letter from a Chicago woman to a nerdy ex-beau–real or fictitious–made it to the Best of Craigslist page. While the rant is indeed a keeper, the author made an error of fact that, while glaring to those with a modicum of background, is not obvious to most hominids. See if you can spot it.
Dear Star Wars obsessed ex-boyfriend,
A few things as of late have come to light. The fact that you had an entire room dedicated to Star Wars should have been enough to make any sane girl run in the opposite direction, I somehow found it endearing. The fact that you couldn’t string two thoughts together in order to form a cohesive sentence should have made me giggle in your face, instead I patiently waited as you tried to sound like your IQ was above 87. Your crazy mom that decided to “pop in” and vacuum at one in the morning should have definitely made leave, but I stuck by your side. Your sexual inadequacies should have made me run to seek orgasm from another penis, instead I quietly masturbated in the bathroom after your pathetic attempts at coitus.
When you told me that you slept with someone else, I must admit that I was mildly relieved as at last this was my way out. But Star Wars obsessed ex- boyfriend, you just had to go and one-up yourself in stupidity. Just when I thought that your stupidity had reached its crescendo a perfect symphony of ignorance, you surprised me. You said something that will forever go down as the worst phrase to ever utter to a girlfriend.
You said: “Yeah I slept with someone else, but I had to think about you to get off.” Seriously? Really? Am I supposed to be honored by this? Is this supposed to make me coo with girlish glee and then all can be forgiven? Let’s pretend for a moment that this statement is true. If you had to think about me when you had your heinous-uncircumcised-lion-seal looking penis in what I can only assume is a skanky disease ridden vagina, why did you simply not fuck me instead? God knows I was willing being that I was constantly unsatisfied and willing to give you another go.
Well, Star Wars obsessed ex-boyfriend, let me tell you this. I won. First off, I am not going to let you ruin Star Wars for me. I will still giggle with delight at Chewbacca’s noises. I will still find humor in Jabba’s fat face.
More importantly, I won because I used my inner rage to go out and fuck the ever living shit out of someone else. Seriously, it was amazing. Porn star status. He came on my face and it tasted like the sweet nectar of the gods. What’s more, you ask? The guy is hung like a gorilla, or to put it in terms that you’d understand, he’s packing a light saber. I was walking funny for 4 days, no joke. And you know what Star Wars obsessed ex-boyfriend? I fucked this guy on real sheets. Sheets that didn’t have R2D2 and C3P0 and Tie fighters. Big boy sheets. When I arched my back and looked up I didn’t see any Sith infiltrators on the ceiling. No Death Star. For the first time in a long time I got off without feeling like I should be on “To Catch a Predator” because you, Star Wars obsessed ex-boyfriend, made me feel dirty for fucking in what looked like a little kid’s room.
Moral of the story? You might want to put down the Obi Wan doll and pick up a book. That way, you might actually learn a few new words that exist outside of that epic film. Or better yet, next time you feel the urge to say something as dumb as what you said to me, pick up a .22 or if it makes you feel better we’ll call it an IG.22 and shoot yourself in the nut sack, that way we won’t have to worry about you breeding.
Oh yeah, and plans are in the works for dressing up as Slave Leia next time.
Best of luck to you in not winding up winning a Darwin award.