I think we have officially started a "feud"

With no introduction needed, let me reintroduce you to Mr. Chuck Gardener, irate member of the Iowa voting community, whom evidently believes himself besmirched by New York's very own Mr. Worthington. Take it away, Chuck:

"Dear NY Collective,

Evidently, judging from the recent letter you posted (which, I will truthfully admit seemed to be a bit of a reaction piece to my original note to you a couple of days back)(who knew I would be starting down this dark and twisty road?), I seem to have raised the spit-shined dander of many an Eton collar wearing New York Stork (yeah, that's an Iowa joke, and it would take too long to explain unless you live over here). Well, you know what? I'm not at all darned sorry I said what I said, and if the other gentleman seems to think that ONLY Iowa excels in exporting pig slop, then evidently he's not aware of how many copies of the New York Post your illustrious state pushes onto the other forty-nine every single day. And another thing, I guess because I didn't quote Shakespeare every other sentence, I must clearly be some sort of back-forty rube with at least two pitchforks (one for formal occasions) and a fire-engine red tractor. Well, that sounds like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing, if you ask me. Here's the thing. Do you really know why the Iowa caucus matters? Because, as you may of guessed, us Iowans speak our mind and we're not afraid to wear our hearts on our flanneled sleeves (which, I hear, is going out of fashion in "other" parts of the country)(and by "other" I mean "probably the North East"). If a candidate can make the rounds through us and finish without looking like a total jackrabbit, he's got the gumption to take his tour to the rest of the country. He (or she) has been Iowa approved, and is all the better for it. You people in New York like metaphors, right? Makes things more like classic Victorian literature for you, right? How about this: imagine the American political process is a jeans manufacturing plant (one with competitive wages and the opportunity for advancement, of course). The Iowa caucus is the jeans inspector that takes the extra five minutes to check for stitching errors and then, knowing he has done his job right, puts a little piece of paper in the pocket so the consumer not only knows his jeans were inspected, but by whom. We give America that tangible piece of mind, we're that little piece of paper, we are Inspector #5. You take that system away, and you've got little rips and tears that, seemingly not a lot to deal with at first, turn into a hole filled pair of jeans that will split wide open the exact moment you take Sally-next-door to Prom and you're dancing the last night of the evening and she's about to tell you she loves you for the first time. Sally don't want to tell no one she loves them when their jeans split wide open on the dance floor. That just ain't American. In closing, yes, I don't read enough T.S. Eliot, but I will take the missus and go catch a showing of "Cats" when it comes into town. Catch my drift, Mr. New York City? Or was that too obtuse for you? I'm sure you'll let me know either way.

Faithfully Yours,

Chuck Gardener"