GUEST POST: Joshua Mohr

Josh Mohr, lying in wait for nemesis Nicholas Sparkz

Today’s guest Happy Ending poster is the very funny and multitalented Joshua Mohr. Mohr is the author of the novels Termite Parade, which was an Editors’ Choice on The New York TimesBest Seller List, and Some Things That Meant the World to Me, one of O Magazine‘s Top 10 reads of 2009 and a SF Chronicle best-seller.  He has published numerous short stories and essays in publications such as The New York Times Book Review, 7×7, the Bay Guardian, ZYZZYVA, The Rumpus, among many others. His third novel, Damascus, was published this October. He lives in San Francisco, and teaches in the MFA program at USF.

If there were a prize or a belt or a blue ribbon, or whatever, for fighting the good fight against the continued publication and popularity of literary drivel, Mohr would be a prize fighter. Today he’s got a bone to pick with a popular novelist/drivelist named Nicholas Sparkz, an enemy of the highest degree against literature, talented writers, and intelligent readers everywhere. Click the jump to read the leaked email exchange between Mohr and Sparkz. Care to make any bets on who will emerge victorious?

Mr. Mohr:

Where on god’s green earth do you get off telling people that my nipples secrete breast milk?  Contrary to popular opinion, sir, it’s not okay to go willy-nilly assailing people’s characters and spreading terrible lies about them producing vast quantities of breast milk.  It’s mean, if I may cut right to the heart of the matter.  You’re mean, Mr. Mohr.

I am an evolved, erudite storyteller (a best-selling storyteller if you haven’t heard.  J  LOL), so I don’t need some third-tier nobody author spreading lies about me lactating breast milk, Kimosabe?  You’re probably just jealous.  That’s what my mom says.  She says oh, that lowly third-tier writer must be envious of her Nicky-slicky selling so many ookie-bookies.  Is that it?  Are you jealous of Nicky-slicky and my ookie-bookies?  It’s okay; of course you are.  A lot of people reek of jealousy-cologne when it comes to the prowess of the Sparkz!  But please, kind sir, find your way to the high road.  Let’s act like gentleman, or I’ll unveil the gangsta sleeping in the penitentiary of my heart.

Cordially and bestsellingly,

Nick Sparkz

Nick: if we were in the old west, I’d back my covered wagon over your balls.

Cordially,

Josh

That’s what I’m talking about!  A wagon?  My balls?  You’re making it impossible for me to LOL the night away.  All I’m trying to do is knock back a couple wine spritzers and whip out another bestselling ookie-bookie and here you go with threatening to run over my balls with a covered wagon?!  What’s the deal, yo?  What did I ever do to you?  I’m just your average bestselling writer who means no harm to anyone!  What bee got all up in your bonnet, Kimosabe?

Frustratingly and bestsellingly,

Da Sparkz-Dawg

My “problem” is that a couple years back, I read an article in which you compared yourself to Shakespeare, Sophocles, and Hemingway.  I don’t care if you wanna write obvious books.  That’s your prerogative.  Just shut the fuck up about how important you are.  Otherwise, no matter how long it takes me, I will build a time machine, take you hostage, travel back to the old west, and run over your balls with a covered wagon.

You’ll be hearing from my attorneys.  This is defamation of character.  We’ll see which of us is  ROFL’ing once my lawyer is all up in your business.  I am a very important bestselling man.  You can’t just talk shenanigans about me and not expect some legal whup-ass.  So get ready, sir, because you’ve broken the back of a bestselling camel: prepare for a melee of legal whup-ass coming at ya.  Pretty soon, you’ll be apologizing and crying and texting me YTMND until you’re blue in the face.  So buckle up and get ready for a whup-ass, Sparkz-style! L   

Throwin’ down the gauntlet and still bestsellingly,

No Nonsense Nick

What’s “YTMND”?

You The Man Now, Dawg.  You’ll text it lickety-split after the legal whup-ass.

Importantly and bestsellingly,

Sparkz: Commander of the Whup-Ass 

 Original Message ——–
Subject: RE: Stinkin’ Like Vinegar
From: Joshua Mohr <joshuamohr@yahoo.com>
Date: Sun, March 21, 2010 6:34 am
To: Nickolas Sparkz <monsieur.big.deal@douche.com>

Wait, you think I’ll text you?  The only thing that I’ll be texting is the skin of your balls around my wagon wheels.

Texting ball skin?  Uh no, Kimosabe.  Try again.  That doesn’t even make sense.  This might be the culprit behind your non-bestsellingness.  See, I am a wordsmith.  Precision is the name of my game.  Do you outline your thoughts?  Maybe you need to plan.  Here’s what I do: I hunker down with a spritzer and my “Sparkz-Genius-Machine” (that’s what I call my laptop) J.  Then I unleash the beast—the bestselling beast—and drop knowledge on all you plebeians.  

Mom says that it might not just be jealousy—that you might have anger management problems.  She made me promise not to talk with you anymore.  She says that if I want to stay “top tier” than I shouldn’t conversate with the third tier.  You might dull my shine. 

So this is Sparkz signing off for good.  No more lactating nipple-cracks, okay?  I’ll let sleeping dogs lie if you do.  But one more wisecrack (don’t make me bring the hammer down) and I call the lawyers with the legal whup-ass.  That’s a promise, punk.  JK.   But really, that’s a promise  L   Don’t force my hand.  Just go your way and I’ll go mine and mum’s the word about breast milk from here on out, all right?  Sound good?  And if you go six weeks without saying anything naughty, I’ll invite you over for my signature garden frittata.  It’s delectable.

Bestsellingly forever,

The great white Sparkz

A small disclaimer: there is no literal connection between Nicholas Sparks, the esteemed author, and my imaginary correspondent, Nickolas Sparkz.  None whatsoever.  Zilch.  Banish it from your mind.