This refuses to get old to me, so its time to share it.
If you read too much Hunter S. Thompson, got big dreams to be a gonzo superstar, and submitted something to Rolling Stone, then they would send you this special rejection letter, from the man himself:
You worthless, acid-sucking piece of illiterate shit! Don't ever send this brain-damaged swill in here again. If I had the time, I'd come out there and drive a fucking wooden stake through your head. Why don't you get a real job, asshole? Like maybe delivering advertising handouts door to door, or taking tickets at carny rides?
You cocksuckers are all the same. You're just like the drug-addled geeks at Rolling Stone who keep sending me this crap. I'd just as soon kill them all.
Do me a favor, dipshit. Jam this tissue of delusions where your readership will better appreciate it.
Up your ass!
Yail Bloor III, Minister of Belles Lettres
P.S. Keep up the good work. Have a nice day. Loser.