Dear Evil Discussor... Does it bother you that "discussor" is not a real word? That's gotta hurt.

That does hurt. Hurts a lot. But it's on my driver's license and so, I'm stuck with it. Sure, sometimes I get upset, wondering what could've been. How life dealt me the most unfairest of hands. For years I blamed my Evil mom. But is she not human? And do humans not make crazy-ass mistakes some/most/all of the time? Naming their kids things like Mobius, and Grapes, and 3000, and Milton? Next to those, Discussor ain't so bad, is it? Sure, she could've looked in a dictionary for the spelling. Or even asked someone. Or just have been halfways smart and not so crazy dumb. But she was too busy pushing me out of her womb to think about it. And yelling. And swearing too. And clutching the bedsheets. She was giving birth to amazing me, so, I can't blame her. I just have to deal.

And so do you. So, everytime you speak of me, which I know you do, all the effing time, to your friends and family and fuckbuddies, please be sure to pronounce my name appropriately. "Discussor," not "Discusser." Yes, "Discussor," with a hard "o." An "o" as hard as my very own evil hardness. "Discussor." A name that would befit some sort of tyrannical tyrant. Or an arch nemesis of sorts. Or maybe just a villanous transformer, a Decepticon, if you will, maybe one that has the super-robotic ability to transform itself into a barely mediocre blogger. And, yes, say it with gusto! And delight! Hiss when you say it. Sneer. And spit. Gnash your teeth like a coked up cokeface. And lick your lips too. Lick your lips as if to say, "Every time I say that name, it maketh me to lick my quivering lips with utmost delight, as if the Evil Discussor himself were gently seated upon my very top lip, perched, reclining, miniature, looking up my nose and smiling into my eyes, always with me, protecting me, evillating me with wit and wisdom, I lick my lips and I taste him, and he tastes salty, as if he hasn't washed for days, because he's been too busy blogging, and can't get up from the keyboard, and is covered in Evil man sweat, and is for some reason, on my lip, and its wierding me out actually, I do wish he'd get off." Which is all very true. Except the part about me being miniature and riding around on your upper lip. But, the part about me not washing for days, that's all truth. I should probably go shower.

Yours,
E.D.