PLEASE PASS THIS LETTER ON TO BOB DYLAN

Dear Mr. Dylan,

Do you HATE me SO MUCH, that you won't even deign me with the courtesy
of a simple one minute PHONE CALL, just to tell me, no, I am not
singing about you, I DO NOT WANT TO BE WITH YOU, I DON'T WANT TO SEE
YOU AGAIN, I DON'T WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU, I DO
*NOT* WANT TO MARRY YOU?????????????????

CAN'T YOU JUST DO *THAT* MUCH???????????????????????

Oh, what, you think you are so great or something that this is going
to destroy me, that I will commit suicide?

JUST TELL ME YOU DON'T WANT ME, SO I CAN GET ON WITH MY LIFE.

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEZEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm BEGGING YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JUST TELL YOU DON'T WANT ME SO I CAN GET ON WITH MY
LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sincerely,
Rachel Ben-Levi

FUCK YOU BOB DYLAN.

FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU.

I know, I said I wasn't going to curse, I am so pissed off at you, I
am so bored, go fuck yourself, go fuck yourself up the ass, take your
great big super long dick and shove it up your anus and fuck yourself.

EAT MY PUSSY!

LICK MY FEET!

GO FUCK YOURSELF!

I HATE YOU AND YOUR POLKA DOTS.

YOU ARE NOT SHY, YOU ARE A LIAR, I HATE SEEING YOU WITH OTHER WOMEN, I
WISH I HAD NEVER TOUCHED YOU, YOU MADE ME DIRTY, YOU CORRUPTED ME, YOU
HAVE MADE ME UNCLEAN AND UNHOLY.

YOU ARE A ROTTEN APPLE, BOB DYLAN!

YOU ARE A DIRTY ROTTEN APPLE, AND YOU ARE POLLUTING THE EARTH WITH
YOUR WORK.

YOU ARE THE CAUSE OF GLOBAL WARMING, YOU AND ALL YOUR FARTING, AND YOU
ARE GOING TO CAUSE THE NEXT WORLD WAR AND THE NEXT HOLOCAUST.

SAVE THE PLANET, BOB DYLAN!

YOU KNOW WHAT I AM SAYING!

Here's the thing.

I think if Bob Dylan let me go, if he would just tell me, no, get on
with your life, I would know PEACE.

I could RELAX.

I could sit on the couch, and watch movies, and enjoy my life.

But no.

He's making me do this.

He is making me work

He is making me pollute the Internet with nonsense.

He is making me tell everyone how smart he is, how he is a genius, how
he is a prophet, etc...etc...

Who gives a rat's ass, Bob Dylan?

I AM SO BORED IT IS UNBELIEVABLE, I CANNOT STAND THIS, I HAVE EVEN
GONE BACK TO SMOKING.

I asked Ken, who wasn't supposed to have any, and he had some, and he
gave them to me.

I feel like crapola.

I am dying of boredom and depression.

I am glad Bob Dylan is happy.

I AM IN THE WORST MOOD OF MY LIFE, but I think maybe I know what the
problem is.

I forgot to chew the gum.

I slept in really late, got up, and I totally forgot about the gum.

Then Ken came home, and I begged him for a cigarette, he's not even
supposed to have any in the house, but he did, and I ended up smoking
three, it was horrible, I have no desire for more, but now I am
chewing the gum, and I really want more.

I've never done this before, but I just started chewing a piece, for a
little while, and now I am going to take another one.

I THINK I WAS GOING THROUGH NICOTINE WITHDRAWAL or something.

I mean, I am in such a bad mood.

Bob Dylan just makes me want to cry.

I don't hold him responsible for his songs, maybe they aren't even
about me, but I think I love him, and it hurts.

But otherwise, I am just having this huge problem RELAXING, I just had
an idea, I could take a hot shower, but I am so g-d LAZY, I don't feel
like doing ANYTHING, I just wish I could sit in front of the tv and
relax/escape/be entertained for the rest of my life.

http://i.realone.com/assets/rn/img/6/3/3/7/15857336-15857339-slarge.jpg

http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/050916/122752__dylan_l.jpg

http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/41869000/jpg/_41869866_dylan270.jpg

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/ABPub/2005/02/09/2002175303.jpg

HE'S *MY* BOB DYLAN.

HE DOESN'T BELONG TO *YOU*, HE DOESN'T *CARE* ABOUT YOU, HE BELONGS TO
*ME*, HE IS ALL *MINE*, AND I AM SO PISSED OFF, I WANT HIM *BACK*, I
*OWN* HIM, I AM SO FUCKING PISSED OFF I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Heeeeeeeeerrrrreeeeeeeee Bobby, Bobby!

Here BOY! Here BOY!

Come on...

Come on...

That's a good boy....

Pick up the phone....

Pick up the phone...

YOU CAN DO IT!

YOU CAN DO IT!

Treat!

Treat!

http://www.hideadoor.com/sneaky_safes/11.jpg

I wil gladly pay you Tuesday for a phone call from Bob Dylan today.

I hereby RENOUNCE you, Mr. Magoo!