It’s me, Reply All. Remember me? Of course you do. To many of you, I’m simply known as Reply. Unfortunately, Reply is my brother. My parents weren’t very creative, and because my brother is more of a private, shy guy, they figured they’d try again with me, maybe see if they could get someone more talkative. And it worked! They even went one better and had my younger brother, Forward. He and I are very close. We share almost everything.
Don’t misjudge what I’m saying, Joe. It’s not that what you’re saying is particularly clever. In fact, quite the opposite. You’re rude, you don’t respect people, you have a strange pie fetish, and you are completely unaware of how a typical survey is constructed. For example, a typical survey would begin with, “What is your age?” It would not, however, follow up with, “How would you slaughter your own mother?” Somehow, your brain has decided that these questions follow some sort of sadistic pattern. And that it’s cool to wear basketball shorts 24/7.
Have you no couth? Have you no brains? Have you no jeans?
For all of these reasons (and many, many more) we can no longer coexist, dear Joe Frat. No longer will I allow you to use me or my brother Forward for your sick thoughts. I don’t want to see you again. Please, please don’t talk to me ever again. Stick to Reply.
Just make sure Forward doesn’t hear about it, or he’ll tell everyone.