Don't Get Me Started

Dear Godzilla,

I don't believe in you. What are you, kidding me? You're supposed to be anywhere from two-hundred to four-hundred feet tall? How much would you weigh in that instance? Not that it matters since you would be crushed by your own weight if you ever tried to move. That is horseshit, and I don't care if you tell my mother I said that, which you can't even do since you can't exist anyway. You violate the Square-cube law. I reject you.

Are you supposed to be some kind of heretofore undiscovered theropod dinosaur? With protruding osteoderms? In the debunked vertical position with your tail dragging on the ground? On the ground? Bigger even than the sauropod Seismisaurus or the still- unconfirmed Amphicoelias fragillimus? By the time blood from your impossibly large heart reached your too-massive head, you'd be long since dead. Also, you've got the wrong kind of head; it looks more like a wolf's head or something.

Don't get me started on that fiery Atomic Breath. Yeah, right. You suck.

Okay, I'm sorry. I just saw this movie that was supposed to have you in it, but it didn't. It just had Matthew Broderick. I spend almost all of my allowance to go see it, but felt really ripped off. I'm sorry I said all those bad things and I didn't really mean them, so please don't get mad and kill me. I wish you would come to my home town and kill all the kids who beat me and call me a loser and a geek and a fatty with tits. I respect you always.

Your fan,
Jimmy Michener
(AGE THIRTEEN)
New London, Connecticut