June 23rd, 2025 - Any Human Heart
Dear TNY,
“Any Human Heart” is a straight-up cumstain.
There is absolutely nothing in this story that is interesting. It’s elitist. It’s overwrought, therefore standoffish to any plain reader, which most readers are, rendering any form of transcendence or empathy inaccessible. But good news! There isn’t any transcendence to begin with.
See, people want stories that are relatable, and that’s when you smack them with transcendence. “This story has similarities to my story, so when the pivot happens I suddenly see my story overlaid across this one and my pivot happens too!” But this story, it isn’t relatable. This lady is in the upper upper upper class of all living humans on earth. Her problems, to her, seem hard. Her friend’s problems seem hard. But they aren’t hard. Because these dumbshits are at the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
I mean, the main character can eat my shit. She has travelled the fucking world, all the while grieving a lost child and a shitty marriage? Cool story, bro. Can you imagine all the families in countries you just skipped your stone-self through who have lost children, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, whole fucking towns, and never had the fucking money to go anywhere? Or even had the time to grieve because they were working every fucking day to try to keep their other kids/family/friends from dying? What a load of shit. The world is a better place when stories are not traditional TNY stories. Because if everyday life for all of us was one of your stories, what a poncy, boring, lifeless place this would be.
My brother was run over by a car in front of me. I watched my mother and father devolve as human beings right before my eyes for the rest of their lives after this incident. My mother, now a mother of three live young, trying to put food in our mouths in dirt-poor, bumfuck New Mexico, having to resort to farming and animal husbandry because we could not afford groceries, her, taking solace in God, who provided the large jugs of Ernest & Gallo seemingly from nowhere, her also having to be saved from the bathroom floor more than once, shit in her pants and puke all over the bathroom, still maintaining the job of mother as that job didn’t end, my father, falling harder into weed and welding and other work such that he was fully inside himself, only becoming more accessible near to the end of his own story, barely bringing home enough money to keep us out of the rain and snow and keep us warm. Neither of them whining about how hard it was or talking about how walking all over Europe was so difficult yet helpful in getting past the death of their baby son.
And my parents? They had it easy compared to billions of other people on this planet that have lost more and carried on with less.
It’s just trash. It’s elitist writing for elitist twats that help them believe they are touching common folk’s lives while not actually touching them or being common at all. And to be clear, this level of living isn’t common. Common people suffer. Suffering is common. Yes, all people suffer, but common people don’t have fucking time or resources to languish in it. Publish those stories. And if you feel different about your life and how common you are, check in with yourself about how fucking pathetic Justin Bieber sounds while singing, “I’m so lo-o-o-o-onely,” as he is somehow able to ignore that he has more money than the next thousand people a few countries south. If you feel he sounds pathetic, yet you sound the same, then check yourself. Yes, he is lonely. But perspective, bitches. Don’t complain down. Don’t talk about your dead son and how you grieve by traveling the world and seeing all this amazing, cool shit. I guess, unless your readers are also out of touch, which, spoiler alert, they are. So yeah, complain away and sound like pieces of shit to the rest of us.
Why do I write to you each week? You have been the same people the whole time. I have as well. As long as you believe you are what you think you are, nothing will change. I don’t understand how you didn’t end up with low self esteem or self worth, how you ended up with so much confidence, how you ended up with very little insight and/or introspection, how you ended up with an inability to hear and register criticism, how you ended up without the desire to do something greater than yourself. Maybe I did too. I don’t know. You don’t see it. I wouldn’t either. Maybe I’m a giant piece of shit like you are. But as far as I can see, it doesn’t have such global ramifications if I am feces. So why do I keep talking to you like you’re going to suddenly understand what an incredible platform you are wasting, that you have the ability to change the fucking world. And you just…don’t. You just don’t. You are Superman sitting on a park bench watching rape and murder, thinking, “I wonder if my hair looks good.”
It's cowardly, selfish, and pathetic.
But here’s to you, TNY! The best of the best! A safehaven for fuckshit stories and/or authors! Congratulations! You’ve done it!
Nick
P.S. Fell down a rock edge on my shin and it was incredibly painful and I welcomed a little real into my life.
