Dear Brian,

Your father and I will not be attending Homecoming Weekend for the fourth consecutive year. This year I am not going to give you the fake excuse that we live too far away from Wesleyan (I didn’t think your grasp of geography was strong enough to realize the proximity of Rhode Island to Connecticut), or that your father has to get all of his teeth drilled out because he is taking a new job as a gay prostitute (I didn’t think you would be smart enough to realize his teeth are not fake). By the way, your grandmother is not really dead. We just didn’t want to celebrate Christmas with you last year.

This year your father and I promised that we would be honest with you. I am just going to say that I am not coming because we have things that we would rather do than go to Wesleyan. Your father and I were both playing a game where the basic premise is we would have to choose whether we would rather do something than go visit you. We both agreed that we would rather bathe in our mothers’ menstrual blood than enjoy your fucking miserable company (I was willing to birth a dead fetus, but your father, for some unknown reason, thought that was a little more traumatic than visiting you).

It’s not that we don’t like you. We just fucking hate you. What’s with all your hair? Your beard (and I am using that term extremely loosely) looks like you super glued a couple brillo pads onto your face. Kissing your check is like falling in a public shower that hasn’t been cleaned in five years and landing with your lips on the drain. Do you consult a stylist and ask to look like a homeless panhandler who has an affinity for nine year old boys? That would explain why we never have met any of your “girlfriends.” Seriously, you look like you would have a hard time getting into a Discovery Zone ball pit. Why do you continue to look the way you do? Oh, now I remember. Your face is extremely ugly.

I am sure that we will visit the campus at some point. We will definitely come if your brother gets in. I mean he should. He is a lot better person than you. He hardly ever drools when he talks anymore and his analysis of Leonardo is quite impeccable (who cares if he is referring to one of the characters from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, he is way more insightful than you).

I hope you die before Thanksgiving,
Mom