Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


I've received some criticism over the content of my last entry in the Diary of Indignities. In response, I'd like to offer the following apologies and disclaimers, written in the voice of Patrick Hughes (me), and not in character as my heinously offensive, fictional alter ego "Bad News Hughes."

I'm sorry I made fun of crazy people.

I know the parents of the kids running around the library probably are working hard someware for little pay and don't have any kind of daycare options. I don't really think these parents are at a crack house, and I apologize if anyone misconstrued that as me doing so.

I'm sorry I made fun of or insulted self-righteous lesbian vegans, cripples, senior citizens, hippies, cheese-stuffed housewives, Star Trek nerds, comic-shop employees, 400-pound dungeon masters, white belts, bums (I know, I know - not every single bum is sleepy), lepers, guys with ponytails, spastics, James Taylor fans, midgets, circus contortionists, trolls and people with excessive ear hair. I'm sorry I implied that star-tattooed hipsters all DJ at some "old wave" night. Despite popular stereotype, many tattooed hipsters are working hard to benefit their community on "old wave" night.

I'm sorry I used the word "homos." I'm sorry I used the word "segregation," and implied that enough Southerners might be nostalgic enough for it to warrant the publication of a magazine.

I apologize to Eddie Murphy about the Pluto Nash crack. I'm sure it's a delightful family film.

I'm sorry I implied that Friends of the Library volunteers work the sale because they raped the comatose. That categorization is totally unfair.

I didn't really spend seven hours waiting in line. Also, I didn't wipe any orgy juice on the elderly. And if I did, I promise it wouldn't cause me to become sexually aroused. I apologize for misleading readers to believe otherwise.

I'm sorry for associating Francis Ford Coppola with the asshole at sale. Mr. Coppola has obviously brought happiness to many people with his films.

I don't really shove children at these things. And I don't really think anybody ever whacked off onto a Dr. Ruth biography. I'm sorry.

After reconsidering my earlier posts, I'd like to point out that I don't actually believe that Benito Mussolini reads this blog, that Hitler was a friend to kittens, that the Irish multiply faster than chlamydia germs on the toilet seats at Leonardo's Pizza, that the language of mustachioed Greek women sounds like a cross between a stick getting stuck in the spokes of your bike and angry stupid monkeys, that First Grand Inquisitor Torquemada designed the couch I slept on at my dad's house, that my aunt and mother are "fucking bitches," that lion-tamer Roy should be called a "fuckin' queer," that fish are dumbasses or that my boners are particularly spectacular. I'm very sorry for stating otherwise.

Finally, for now, I didn't ever eat a horseradish omelet and I never told Macgruff the Crime Dog about you showing your weiner to those kids. I apologize.

I hope this clears up any misunderstandings.

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