Dear Sallie Mae--

I’m writing this letter to you because I didn’t know how else to express my feelings. Your behavior as of late has become…well, erratic -- scary, even. Fifteen, twenty calls a day, and the times I actually pick up, it seems you don’t want to talk about the relationship. You call late at night, and on the weekends. With you, it’s always “give me, give me, give me,” but there’s never any take. Why haven’t you been able to listen to me and to my needs? I’ve tried to be open and honest with you, but it seems that ultimately, you just don’t care. Over the past few months, I’ve come to realize that you have no regard for my space, boundaries, or feelings. So, it is with great remorse that I’m writing to tell you that I’ve decided that I’m breaking up with you.

When I look back on our relationship, I do so with fondness. God, the beginning was so promising, wasn’t it Sallie Mae!? I was in a bind. I couldn’t afford the astronomical $100,000 (USD) cost of film school, but you were there for me. You told me you’d lend me the money to pay for my tuition, my books, and…well, that’s it actually.

I still couldn’t afford to “live,” but at least I could live my dream! And what good times we had! After three years, I finally graduated, and I had you to thank for it!

Sure, maybe I chose the most impossible of professions. And, yeah, I’ve had some minor successes. But not enough success to return all of the money I owe you. That kind of success only comes from winning the Lottery, or dealing large amounts of cocaine over a lengthy period of time in predominantly white neighborhoods, or selling babies and/or their organs on the black market.

And at first, you were cool with my situation. You were all, “Don’t worry about it, baby. Pay me back when you can...at totally unfair interest rates and terms…" You also talked really quietly and used lots of astericks and stuff. It didn't matter, because I was busting my ass to get you your money. Hell, I still am darling.

But then recently something went wrong. Suddenly, you decided no matter what the status of my current employment was; regardless of what funds I had in my bank account, you needed all your money...NOW!

And I wanted to pay you. I did. I even told you I would pay you in a few weeks…but you just got all crazy in the head, chica!

That’s when the calls started.

And they just kept coming, and coming, and coming, and coming, and coming. Actually, while I’ve been writing this, you’ve called me twice. I recognize your numbers now, baby doll. That’s why I don’t pick up anymore. 1-866-656-3422, or 1-317-595-1440, or 1-800-848-0981, or “Unknown Number.” I got em’ all, girl. I know your tricks, mama.

Yesterday, even after I told you that the check was sent and on its way to you, you still kept up with the calls. When you called at midnight/EST, I couldn’t handle it anymore and I snapped. I called you back, like, ten times in a row and told you to go “fuck yourself, you damn cunt whore!” It was immature, I know. But what else was I supposed to do? You just wouldn't stop.

I’m calmer now. Hopefully, when you process my feelings...and then my check...you’ll stop calling. But I doubt it. You’re a psychotic hell beast, and I can finally say without a doubt, that it’s not me.

It’s you.

In the meantime, I’m going to give you a taste of your own medicine. I’ve blogged all about you. I even provided my readers with the best number to reach you directly at:

1-317-595-1440

Sure, it’ll be a different person who answers every time they call, but ultimately it’s still always you. I’ve told my readers to call you at all hours of the day and say horrible and mean things to you; to tell you to eat shit. To suck their asses. To fuck off and die. Hopefully, you’ll learn a lesson from all of this. But somehow I doubt it.

I’ve also provided my readership a link to a website that explains what an evil, evil bitch you are.

Student Loan Injustice

All my hate,

Jon

Jon_Kesselman has a new short online. Click the following link to watch it:

The Shmulik Finkelstein Story