Why I Hate Davis Ferguson‏

22 November 2009

I hate Davis Ferguson because he mocks my respect for perfection.

And because he is a liar. The image he conveys is one of down home Americana that is as fake as the artificial twang in his Yale educated voice. Though it is obvious that he descends from peasant stock, by the time the Second World War was to commence his family’s various enterprises and ill gotten gains made them one of the richest in Pre-Internet America.

Our last meeting, at his insistence, took place at a Denny’s restaurant near Lincoln, Nebraska, a chain he doesn’t even own. His goal in taking me there was to make me uncomfortable enough so that I might inadvertently reveal why I have been buying up shares in his various corporations.

As he consumed enormous quantities of bright yellow food covered in rivers of maple syrup mopped up with the whitest of bread, I thought at least Elvis had the class to keel over and die after a lifetime of consuming such victuals. This wildebeest had the gall to guffaw in my face, (I detest even the notion of a guffaw), and boast that there is another group interested in his various corporations, and he might just go ahead and meet with them, to teach me a thing or two about how good ‘ole boys do things down around his way.

Go ahead, I say to this evolutionary misstep, and keep to myself that this other party reports to me.

Virtually yours,

Patrick Bateman

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