Subject: A Quick Question
Hello Mr Ken Coffman,
I would like to see if you have any interest in having us as an internet marketing partner.
I have an internet marketing company producing web site traffic by creating social (like “Facebook”) business apps and pages.
Please call or reply to this email if you have any interest. I look forward to hearing from you, Mr Ken Coffman!
I commend you on being the first person to ever figure out that my real name is Ken Coffman! (slow clap) You must work for a shadow CIA operation when you’re not busy running your internet marketing company that produces web site traffic via “Facebook.” Did you have bugs on my phones? Was that how you did it? Sneaky little Bob bastard. 🙂
But seriously, I can’t tell you what a relief it is to finally let go of this “Wendi Aarons” alias that I’ve been using for the past few years. First of all, Wendi with an i? That’s just ridiculous. I sound like a piece of lead-based Chinese candy. And “Aarons”? Saw that on the back of a sanitation truck the last time I was in Fargo. (Slogan: “When You Think Crap, Think Aarons!”)
Believe me, Bob, the next time I forge a fake online identity, I’m going with a cool name like “Thor Mixedmartialarts” or something Portuguese. Then I won’t be stuck with a lame ass online persona like “Wendi Aarons.” Do you know how hard it’s been for me to pretend that I’m an aging blonde simpleton who buys her clothes at the grocery store? To pretend that I love Manilow? Go to PTA meetings? Drink fucking chardonnay? For crissakes, Bob, I have to act like I live in TEXAS. Texas. And I don’t even know what the Alamo is or how to say “y’all” without using air quotes and smirking with irony. It’s been torture, Bob.
So—thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for finally outing me as a 65-year-old gay garbageman from Ottowa named Ken Coffman. It’s high time my readers knew the real, true me. And you know what? I’m pretty sure they’re going to like me, my neo-Nazi brother and my 500-page manifestos about the hundreds of cats and wolf hybrid puppies I hoard in my basement just as much as they ever liked that drunk moron “Wendi Aarons” and her idiotic complaints about the heat. (Seriously, do you know how hard it was to make that insipid shit up week after week after kill-me-now week? I had to slam a six-pack of malt liquor just to write her swimsuit post without blowing chunks.)
Therefore, in closing, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Bob. And I want you to know that I not only appreciate you, I also deeply, deeply love you. Of course, not enough to be your internet marketing partner. Even that jackass “Wendi Aarons” knows better than that.
MR. KEN COFFMAN!!