Letters

10/18/2025

Letters written to god

Fri, Oct 17, 2025, City of Joy

Dear fucking God,

RE: Go fuck yourself

I know that you know that I know you don’t exist, so you would be plagued with a sense of absurd contradiction were you to read this letter, but being nonexistent and illiterate you just can’t do it. Imagine a fucking nonsense nonbeing nonentity ninny who can’t even read an imaginary letter—how embarrassing it must feel to prefix omni in words you can’t even be expected to spell. But as I understand, you are a shameful piece of human invention when we knew no better, that continues shamelessly into an anachronism that can’t be diluted with my sense of humor or caricatured into a diminutive turd that can be safely flushed into the septic tank, which meets the groundwater below to come back with arsenic and lead as potable fucking water. As you know, in the city of Calcutta, although the cunts aren’t as stupid as those of Abrahamic abracadabra, people eat incredible amounts of sugar and fat during these Hindoo periods of religious masturbatory insanity, where you represent both light and dark, good and evil, Rama and Ravana, usually leading to fatty liver or, for the extremely jolly in this colonial shithole, liver cirrhosis. Can you be any more pernicious than this? Anyway, I have to take a dump, and so I hope I see your open mouth in the commode expecting my impoverished middle-class middle-aged shit—be nice and say thanks.

Yours disrespectfully, Suvrotica.

Carbon Copy: That horrible homeopath Hare-Krishna, bengal’s favorite rambling psychopath Rama Krishna, most lame and mean camel boy Mohammad, vacuous and vicious Vishnu, Jesus fucking Christ, fuckface Budhha, shitty Shiva, bullshit Brahma, the asshole on amarica’s most wanted list Allah, gassy and naughty fatass Guru Nanak, menorrhoeaic Mother Mary Tits, dick-killer duplicitous Durga, cackling calcutta cunt Joe Maa fucking Kali, kakistocracy champion killjoy Krishna, all trinity fecal fuckfaces of other faiths, indelible jizz stain Jehovah, and any other contributors to your nasty existence—please tell them all to go fuck themselves.

Letters written to self

Fri, Oct 10, 2025, City of Joy

Dear mister suvrotica,

RE: not celebrating mental health day, are you?

Hope this letter finds you terminally ill or as an obscenely decaying, gravely disfigured corpse, but I know this hope will be shattered to smithereens by your unconditional persistence.

It troubles me to no end to see that you are still somewhere and somehow not dead. I mean, if manic-depression can’t guarantee at least the necessary deaths, especially of brittle, emotional useless contracts in a society full of important people, then such diseases should be publicly ashamed and ceremoniously lynched by the Calcutta mob on this auspicious day. Take this mob, for example, just a swarming infestation of giggling bengalis who make the German word schadenfreude proud, even when they are themselves almost on boats due to shallow, untimely monsoons that always overstay the Indian welcome. Please make sure I don’t have to write you another letter, because, as you are aware, this is a profligate misuse of the imported fountain pen, collector’s edition I must boast, with that rare expensive india ink, ordered from amazon that I use.

And for fuck’s sake, even if hemlock is out of season, trustworthy, potent amounts of cyanide aren’t locally available, and adulterants in noose or the cement in calcutta ceilings make it quite hard to hang yourself, and low, leprous shanty tenements with cow dung on the road make jumping off the roof impossible, how is it that you haven’t managed to get hit by a vehicle, trampled by a galumphing, elephantine bengali cocky cunt herd?

With persistent cold disregard,

Insincerely,

suvrotica.