The following letter contains language some may find offensive.
Marvel Editors...you are the droppings of the creative world. You were destined to float in the cesspool till urine logged and finally sink to the bottom with the rest of the shit but along came Jim Shooter who rolled up his sleeves and rescued you.
He gave you a title, respectability, power and even a credit card that you used and abused. He made you the highest payed Editors in the history of the business. He protected you against all that would tamper with your rights, your power and your pocketbook.
He backed you against all Prima Donna free lancers no matter how big...his pockets were always open to you. No cry of help was too small for him to turn his back on.
As heard in the "Brass" section of the company..."He never asked for anything for himself...always for his men."
The roof over your head, the clothes on your back, the car you drive and the trinkets you buy for your blind wives and girlfriends you owe to the Pittsburg kid.
For all he did for you...you repayed him by attacking him like a pack of yellow, prickless faggots. Ripping away his flesh from his body and laughing and pounding your chest like conquering ghouls and long after his bones were dry you continued to pour salt on them to squeeze every ounce of pain out of him.
Not the slightest whimper or cry or tear came out of this man. With you still biting at his ankles, he put on his coat and walked away...Displaying more class and poise in defeat than all of you did in victory...Jesus had one Judas...Jim had many, those that speared him and worse, those that watched...
I stuck by him and for that you've nailed me on the same cross...I thank you for that...It's an honor to be crucified with Jim Shooter...a man who none of you will ever be.