You were walking in Lower Queen Anne with a friend, at around 9:30 Friday night, January 14. You and your Eastside boyfriend in his yellow sweater ran the red in front of my car, then insulted me when I took issue with you. You called me a "fat man."
I've always appreciated the peace and politeness of this city. I'm far too old to suffer fools on the street such as yourself. As an individual I can do little about teenage anarchists destroying public property or terrorists smuggling bombs to blow up the Space Needle. But I can deal with you stupid fucks! I'm drawing my line in the sand.
I challenge both of you to a duel, if you have the balls for it. There's no reason my friends and neighbors should have to endure rude, drunken louts such as yourself, and suffer insult, provocation, or threat of violence simply by going about our business. I'm going to make you an object lesson for those who resist keeping this city polite and safe, whether the Sonics win or not.
In order to meet my requirements, you must both attend. I will not feel satisfied unless both of you are completely humiliated. Remember, I'm fat -- I must be old and slow as well. You just might stand a chance. In addition, I'm a poet -- we have a reputation for weak sentimentality. That should give you even more hope. You can address your response care of the editors of this newspaper, and we will arrange a proper time and place.
Hey, Eastside assholes! Wanna date with "The Fat Man"? E-mail your acceptance to email@example.com! -- Editors