Ladies and Gentlemen, I implore you: I am NOT a monster! I am nothing of the sort!

On Tuesday, Gawker published this post about me. Now, I didn't get to read it that day for a number of reasons:

1. My Wi-Fi was out. (Thanks a lot, Time Warner.)
2. My deformed hand-claws are too clumsy to operate an iPhone.
3. I don't read Gawker -- most of the time I find it masturbatory and insular.

So yesterday, my buddy Karl calls me up, and he's like, "Bro, have you seen this?" and I'm like, "Seen what?" So I emerge from my pitch-dark underwater lair, hobble on my four hoof-legs of different lengths across the beach to the Montauk Public Library, leaving a trail of plasmic discharge from my twelve anuses. As soon as I log in at one of their terminals it's "Montauk Monster" this and "Montauk Monster" that. 

Listen folks, I know what I look like. I've always looked like this. So I have a pretty thick skin when it comes to this kind of stuff. But this really hurts, guys.

I'm not a monster. My name is Jesse. I grew up in Great Neck. I went to Stony Brook. And I am no more or less a monster than anyone else who grew up on Long Island.  So I'd thank you to be a little more sensitive next time.