The Godzilla-Mothra Letters (continued)

Dear Mothra,

I found out today my son is an emo. The son I never talk about. So now I can not talk about him even more.

I don't think he understands the kaiju principle of "No parent should die before his child."

We were talking telepathically today. There were these uncomfortable pauses. I had this horrible feeling that at any moment he was going to tell me he's vegetarian or vegan. But the truth was only slightly better. He's pescatarian. So at least he still eats whales. There's that. When he started talking about the virtues of eating organically grown forests, I telepathically hung up on him.

He knew better than to telepathically redial.

Fucking kids.

You bring them into this world.

And then they destroy nothing.


Dear Goz,

I'm sorry your Mini-Me is turning out to be such a disappointment.

He's not really interested in world destruction or even making movies, that much is hella clear..

I have to confess I wanted to destroy him when he texted me asking me to add him on FACEBOOK.

Don't take it personally. All children of celebrities are usually totally fucking clueless and lost.

Even kaiju have a short bus, and I'm afraid your kid's on it.


Dear Mothra,

If he would just try.

When he goes to Tokyo, the Japanese indulge in their usual photomania and soon he's all over Flickr. All he cares about is being adored by the Japanese, who consider him some sort of squee god. He's knee-high to a skyscraper and only uses his atomic ray to destroy objects the Japanese have prepared specially for this purpose. My son is a poodle. My son is a fucking dancing poodle. And girls have a crush on him. You should see his posters. Emo enough to make your head vomit. I didn't even recognize him. Japan's little crush with eyeliner.

He even met fucking Justin Bieber. And didn't incinerate him.

Does that sound like my bloodline?



Dear Goz,

That's the great thing about being an insect.

I produce a shitload of children and as far as I'm concerned, they're all disposable.

Sure, I'll rush in to defend them when they're being attacked, but I have to confess it's more for the thrill of creating global-scale wreckage and carnage. Lots of parents are that way. In America, many sociopathic fathers and mothers force their children of both sexes into competitive sports so they themselves can later indulge their bloodlust at the games when they don't like a call by an ump or ref. It's like a serial killer's version of Munchausen's-by-proxy. "I want you to sign up for wrestling, Son, so you'll bring me a large pool of victims."


Dear Mothra,

I'm having a blah day.

All I did was look at LOLcats and masturbate.

I'm on top of some mountain that doesn't even have a name.

I was showing up on radar and the U.S. Air Force scrambled some jets and they did a fly-over right while I was watching girl-on-girl kaiju porn. It was actually Ogra doing Biollante. And vice versa. Some great strap-on action. It really turned me on in a weird way, knowing that Biollante is really me. I mean she grew from my skin, my DNA, fused with the DNA of a rose from that crazy doctor's garden. I remember her first larval stage fondly. Or my dick does. I really wanted to fuck her then--even if she was only really a giant vagina dentata. You know what I'm talking about? Remember when she was just a giant kaiju rose with teeth? That made my dick so hard. I mean I gave birth to my own giant Fleshlight. Then she had to evolve into that weird mosasaur thing. Evolutions. Sound familiar? Kaiju should sue Pokemon Empire. They're nothing but a spin-off based on our lives. The Pokemon people are always bugging me to comment on their shitty work and lend it credibility. As if. I'd sooner shit the Chrysler building.

Anyway, I was enjoying it when Ogra was topping Biollante, and then I began wondering what it means that she was doing me and it was turning me on so badly. In a weird way.

Maybe I'm a lesbian.

Or something.

Anyway, I took down the jets that were interrupting my hand job with a few well-directed blasts.

And now I'm lying on top this mountain and just staring at clouds, a cooling off period.

One of them looks like a mouse fucking a Dustbuster.

Needless to say, I'm high.

I stopped off at a pharmaceutical manufacturer and ate about half the building.

I have the weirdest buzz and the weirdest boner right now.

I must have eaten the area where they make Viagra. Some sort of kielbasa Miracle-Gro anyway.

But I've got no desire to masturbate.

I hope it doesn't last longer than four hours.

There is no kaiju emergency room.



Dear Goz,


About your porno gender confusion...


You were born this way.

Same DNA.

But born this way.


Dear Moz,

Shut the Fuck Up, Get the Fuck Out, Eat a bunch of Lightbulbs and Die in a Fire While Shitting Them Out.


Dear Goz,

I have done all of the above.

Now you have no one to talk to but yourself.

And your emo son.

This is the ghost of Mothra, writing you for the last time.


Dear Mothra,

LOL.


Dear Goz,

I saw a list of "The Most Popular Kaiju" today and of course you were higher on the list than I was.

This made me wish for your death.

For the thousandth time.

I hope you will not think less of me.

Your pal.



Dear Mothra,

U jelly?

I was shitting blood today because yesterday I ate one of those skyscrapers which are mostly all glass.

And people don't believe in karma. Now I'm almost sorry I made that eating lightbulbs comment to you.

I flew over Portland while taking these hellacious dumps. I thought it was funny when the news reported it was raining blood and all the religious zealots went on t.v. and started talking about the end of the world.

If you live in Oregon, it's already the end of the world.

Deal with it.

I thought it was funny when all these people appeared on t.v. looking like Carrie at the prom, talking about signs and wonders.

It was really funny because the reporters kept backing up from them even while they held the microphones out for them to talk, and they kept advancing towards the reporters while dripping blood all over the street, squealing about heaven and hell. Their two favorite places. Besides WALMART.

They were too full of glory to realize they smelled like shit. One of the reporters threw up live on air. Go directly to YouTube. Do not Pass Go. Go viral. You're welcome.

Every one of these shitty, bloody lunatics sounded and looked like Carrie's mother after Carrie returns from the prom.

Apocalypses give a lot of people orgasms.

And the idea of Final Judgment. That gives people orgasms too.

To get the Last word AND send someone to Hell. What could be more fun for a human than that?

I'm happy to say I'm here to oblige the sick desires of sick puppies. Like James Taylor sings, "That's what I'm here for."

Just give me one of those Orgasm Donor t-shirts those assholes wear down in Jersey Shore.

Speaking of which.

I feel an intense desire to help clean up American television and head down that way very soon.

There's a certain beachhouse infested with disgusting humans with kaiju-sized egos.

I've got your GTL, bro.

Let me show you a different sort of crunch.


This is a continuation of a book I'm writing. You can see the beginning here:
I should whack off those last few sentences in the paragraph that mentions Schwarzenegger/Shriver.