An Open Letter to Botendaddy from a Group of Angry Females

We, the undersigned **hot** females who are forced to read your pathetic, loser, blather state the following:

Dear Botendaddy, you fat, disgusting misogynist pig. You horrific carnival sideshow freak!


Natural Beauty of the Muscular Botendaddy

Of course, no woman could possibly ever be attracted to you, you sickening, vomitous, sweaty, hairy, muscular, malodorous Frankenstein. I bet you think as you do your feeble super-slow trail running, as you leer at our perfect spandex-covered, tight sexy little derrieres: ‘Ooh, I’m {REFERENCE DELETED} Botendaddy, the great {REFERENCE DELETED}, the self-appointed, feared™ New York Literary Critic,  Ooh, I have the God-given right to psycho-analyze all these women who are so much better than I am.’

We are far superior to you in every possible way. We are successful, all men want us. Why would we ever be interested in a hideous, creepy, low-life, vulgar, pig like you. I know ‘a women loved me once very much blah, blah, blah, Annabel Lee – Edgar Allen Poe, long-lost love who you mourn tragically as you run (poorly) with a broken heart, blah, blah, blah we get it already and we don’t care! It’s all about us!’. So you had that one true love that we shall never have, so good for you, as I pet my cat, drink Stoli and eat chocolate in my Manhattan apartment. 

Botendaddy: a force of nature

Botendaddy: a force of nature

You are a sickening, bloated, Yeti-like Sasquatch, Bigfoot, mal-formed freak, the stuff of which nightmares are made. You hulking, beast. You illegitimate quasi-New York literati wannabe, phony pseudo (pronounced sway-dough) intellectual. You are the monster in the closet of every little girl’s nightmare. You inspire terror, revulsion, disgust, self-loathing. I would chew my arm off to get away if I was handcuffed to you. Just being near you makes my skin crawl.

being near you…being near you…being near you…every time we see your undulating, glowing-green mass of rotting, ancient, wait…stop…’Daddy never loved me’, ‘I’m a bad girl’, ‘Hold your water!’ ‘Norman Bates stay away from those dirty girls! Put me by the window where I can see boy!’ Oh Botendaddy, I need you, desperately, oh my god yes Botendaddy, take me now! I need you, Ooh Botendaddy, don’t…stop… don’t…stop FOR KHUFU’S SAKE DON’T EVER STOP! OH THE SMELL OF IT! 


Scenic Sylvan Path

I apologize to my readers, but they demanded the right to respond. I felt it only American to give equal time, to these despondent, lean, lonely, hot, no underwear-spandex-wearing, cat-loving women who detest me with every fibre of their being. And I repeat, I am not now nor have I ever been a licensed {REFERENCE DELETED} who lost his license due an incident so evil, so foul and so blasphemous that it cannot be spoken of in this world or the next level of Dante’s purgatory.


About Botendaddy

Three times voted extreme sexiest man acclamation. I run because I must...I must!
This entry was posted in Critic's Corner, Exercise and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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