An open letter to The Honest Bitch and her loyal band of bitches,
The Honest Bitch is a curious creature. If you haven’t met her, then that is a shame for you because she is pretty thing with cute complexities and vulnerable virtues. I’ve met her, as you may have read. She has this tendency to rip my clothes off and take advantage of me, something for which I am immensely grateful, since the girl has some skills.
But she gets this magnificent blog to share her soul with the world. I gather some of you want to know about me, the enigmatic Mr X. Why, I have no idea, but allow me to indulge some of you.
I was born in London. It was a difficult birth because my mother was in Manchester at the time. I was raised by a pack of wolves until my youth. I was educated in the dreary school system that taught me that the correct answer is never the facts but what the teacher wants to hear. As a consequence, I managed to get an A in most subjects by writing my name and “How’s about it Miss?” on the front of most exam papers. Strangely, I did poorly in Media Studies. Mr Smith was obviously expecting me to put down actual answers.
Then I went to University in Oxford and instantly fell in love with the city. Sadly, society frowned upon marriage between a man and an urban area, so we had to just stay friends. I came away from my academic studies with a Masters in Wit, Charm and Cynicism. I also picked up a Doctorate in Trust Issues.
I now work as the boss of a shadowy organisation planning on world domination by turning the world’s brains to mush. That’s right; we are behind The X Factor, the Twilight saga and McDonalds.
The Honest Bitch and I met under auspicious circumstances. There I was, randomly spraying myself with two cans of Lynx on a beach, when an armada of women came galloping my way. However, no one was stopping The Honest Bitch, who battered through the crowd with the brutality of an ice hockey player. Little did I realise that she had studied such an art for some time.
So why aren’t we together? Well, I’m a man. Commitment breaks me out in a rash. We could be sex buddies but it would only lead to commitment and we wouldn’t be friends after the ugly break up, done via text message or a restraining order.
Some of you may have questions. Feel free to put them in the comments and those that The Honest Bitch really wants answering, I’m sure she’ll put them to me. The rest will probably end up on her Facebook page in some edited format!