Blocked? - a letter to my editor

Dear Mr. Tight-Arse Editor,

         It seems that I, Reading Raynes and my alter ego Dr. I-can't-get-off-my-ASS, are unable to produce anything new for my readers today. Sad as it seems, I am now searching for ways to prove to the world that Hulk Hogan is awesome, as is the act of getting your cat to urinate on bad DVDs which were an absolute waste of bloody time, such as Marmaduke and Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. (pirated copy available at your nearest Beng-Beng shop)

          I am also very busy picking yesterday's lunch out of my teeth and cannot find the time to switch on my lap top to earn some money. That said, I will understand if you no longer want to be my editor. Rest assured that if you drop me, you will be making the biggest mistake of your life - since I am so fucking talented that I fart good stories and I am so famous that homeless people follow me down the street with machetes.

           After I am done picking my teeth, my schedule will be packed not with various interviews and book-signings but with the ultimate honour of clipping my toenails with my boyfriend's nose-hair trimmer. I implore you not to disturb me, call me or try to communicate with me in any way whilst I am clipping my toenails with said trimmer. Heaven forbid that I allow the fungus on my toes to colonize the poor boy's nose. I also humbly request that you do not inform him of such activities. (yes, I have a boyfriend. He's a hamster named Wong)
 
           Recently, I have found that I may be suffering from a deadly, incurable disease. Writer's block has attacked me so severely that I have developed backne (acne on the back, pronounced "back-knee" - in case you are actually as fucking stupid as you look, what with that God awful bow tie, ladies baby-tee and shiny shoes). I have dragged my spot-ridden body to a doctor, and it's been certified -WRITER'S BLOCK, and I have been warned "not to overdo" lest my spleen ruptures and I turn into a man with a beard.

           It would be only right for me to apologise for everything that has happened. Recently, many tragic things have occurred; I was forced into resignation from a "real" job, retained so much flatus (my colon is about to go bust) that I floated in a flooded pothole and found lint in my belly button. Hence, I shall apologise for all my shortcomings (I said comings) and also for all my future shortcummings (I said it again, this time with "gooding" spelling).

          To end my letter, I shall leave you with a strict warning: DO NOT DROP ME. If you do, I'll defecate on your car dashboard (like in that awesome book/movie Christine), vandalise your potted plants and violate your dog.

        Thank you for wasting your time and mine. May God be with you. You are so ugly that only God could possibly love you.

Sincerely,

Reading Raynes, M.D.
Registered user of "Ooops-a-poopie Adult Diapers"
       

 Now all I need is an editor! Sorry fellas, I'm stuck. You'll have to wait for chapter 16. Recently wrote a draft of it, and it was quite simply SHIT. Catch older stories and chapter of The Builder at the "Lost Something? Find a story here!" section. Leave me a comment you losers. Much love. Share my letter with your friends, family, neighbours, boss and distant in-bred cousins. Much love. If the block continues, I'll be giving you a copy of my CV to pass around.