Monday, 3 December 2012

Letter to JT Leroy

Dear J T Leroy,

I am your biggest fandangle. I love how you wrote those two books about child abuse under a fake name. I love how you paid a boring Brooklyn writer to pretend to be you to make the shitty shit more real. When I was a child I too hung around trailer park hookers and helped perform fellatio on beer-sodden belliferous brutes. (I didn’t really, but hey!) I like how your books are written at a level children can understand and from the POV of kids, because if there’s one thing we need more of as readers it’s whimsical child-abuse novels written for children but read by adults and written under fake names. I love you! MJ is not my real name, my real one is Paul Robertson. I come from the small Highland town of Nairn where porridge powers pylons and our only entertainment is the Village Yoyo, which gets passed sequentially among all the residents. It isn’t my shot until next March! I am so bored I could cut myself! I write what the kids call metafiction but no one wants to read me. Do you think I should start blowing truckers on the side? I know my way around a ladycave but I have never patted a pal’s protuberance before, sober or otherwise. Perhaps you can show me with diagrams what to do in that area? I would probably die for you, but I’m not 100% on that.



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