If you didn't already notice, this week is "beef" week on the Deuce; a week where any outstanding "beefs" can be discussed in an open and frank forum (so long as I am the only member of said forum). Some would say that the existence of the Deuce Goose is defined by my beef with others, to those people I say: "eat a dick". Fucking Discovery channel has Shark Week and what the fuck else does the Discovery Channel have on it other than sharks and sharks fucking? Sheesh. Anyway, in the spirit of Beef Week I've decided to publish this letter from ex-New York Post gossip columnist Ian Spiegelman to magazine writer Doug Dechert. Spiegelman obviously has some beef with Dechert and he lets Dechert know it in the kind of way I wish I could let everyone know about my beef with them. In fact, when you're reading the following letter, replace "Doug" with "virtually every cocksucker I see". Enjoy.

Doug,

You picked the wrong boy to fuck with, you pussy. I am not like anyone you've come up against and I don't consider there to be any rules in this. I break aging trust fund pussies like you as a matter of course. If you think you can bring it, then bring it, faggot. Because I know that in my world you're nothing but a two-bit lame. Do you know what a lame is, Doug? A lame is an also-ran, a lame is the excuse for the person he would have been if he wasn't so fucking weak, so completely pathetic.

You 're a lame and a pussy, Doug. And you should know better than to try and wage war on me. I'm better, stronger and smarter than you, you little Nancy. If I wanted to take your girl out, I would. You have nothing I can't take away from you, you non-man. Doug, you little tiny fairy, you arrested boy, I will break your back over my knee in the press and I will push your face inside-out in private or public. You've crossed a line that you are currently too insane to see that you've crossed. But I am giving you this one freeby:

Mention my name anywhere, ever, again, and we're going to find out two things: First, whose word means anything anymore in this town. Second, how many times I can slam my fist into your face before someone pulls me off you. Now I know you'll try and get a restraining order against me, you suit-happy little pussy. After all, you live in your mother's apartment. And that's fine, go ahead. I just want you to know who you picked a problem with, pussy. You picked a fight with someone who doesn't sleep until he's paid it back, you limp little woman. Now you wait for it,

Best,
Ian

Incredible, no? By the way, a spineless cunt from the Daily News ratted on Ian about this letter and got him fired, you don't need me to tell you what a shame that is.