Red Alert

Dear Morning Eye Opener,

Please close up shop. No one wants to see that sort of madness at such an hour of the day. Night is the language of rock. Rock the cock. Stunt the cunt. Take some mad pills and erase the rest. You only need so much. Don't call it foreplay. Foreplay is what we call the actions of which the importance of we are attempting to downplay. But all of it's fun to me. Foreplay doesn't even exist because it's all business when I get down to business. The messier the better. Hell, you can just take a bath later. Smoke a cigarette. Drink a cup of coffee. The morning eye opener.

Get back to work,
- The Bearded Bandit

Too Hot to Handle and I've Only Got Two Hands

Dear Fate//God//None of the Above,

It's either none at all or far too much. You solved my dilemma last week; yes I was perhaps somewhat broken, but I was free to explore the world of hopeful possibility. Now am I to be handed another dream-killing reality slice? A shard of something that may make or break any crap I've been plotting? A slice and shard I might very well like to be cut by?

I'm too much in lust for this.

Wontly no one's,
Jezebel

We Just Want You to Get Drunk and Have Sex with ONE of Us

Dear Crayon,

Thank you for telling me I am sexy. And that I'm sexy because I am confidant. And because I'm sexually confidant. I'm not doing anything later; let's talk.

Love,
Former Co

I Like Real Ones Too II

Dear Friend with Benies,

That's a very good start.

Love,
Your Pleasantly Plump Rocker

I Like Real Ones Too

Dear Friend with Benies,

Where are my benies?

Love,
Your Pleasantly Plump Rocker

9 Inches and Thick

Dear Ted in Alabama, My Dream Come True, and Biggest Cock This Side of the Mississippi,

Why do you call? I reassure myself by thinking you are more desperate than me. But why do I call? Those nights when it's 2 AM and I come home from the bars alone and I have no one and I'm horny and ten second internet porn clips just won't cut it anymore...I get off on you getting off on me getting off. I'll be your schoolgirl, your naughty secretary, your next door neighbor mowing the lawn...but we both know we mean nothing to each other. You're just a voice, and this is just my hand.

Fuck me harder,
36DD in Detroit

Dear Green Sphere

You are so very squishy,

just like my heart.

-With a slowing tick,
-The Hands of Time.

Polynesian Intuition

Dear Bread Spread,

Too bad she considers it cheating, cause you missed some good lap dances…and apparently looking at titties is worse than getting your &%*! #*@&ed. You only want me when we are outside the pussy whip jurisdiction…you’ll grab my ass in Escanaba but at the Marquette city limits its back to chaste high fives. Your window of opportunity is fast closing; you missed it last time; my rationale, guilt, and respectability (or what is left) will soon take over again.

Love,
The Other Woman

Dear Corporate Comedic Outlet

Dear Corporate Comedic Outlet,

This was a day for talent, this was a day for dreams, this was a day for originality, THIS was a day for OPEN MIC NITE! But you CRUSHED our talents, our dreams, our originality, our OPEN MIC NITE just to fulfill your own heartless advertising with your comedic contest. This was OUR nite, and you stole the show. Your comics were tasteless, unoriginal, and offensive; all except for one. A friend. A colleague. A damn funny man. Now if there is any justice in the world he would have won. In fact, he DID win. Justice has been served with a side of fame, because that's what he is going to get. London Town look out! There's a storm rolling your way, and its name is Edwin Porter-Daniels.

With an overjoyed disgust,
- The Betrayed Kazooist.

!@#$

Dear Flogging, Cocking, Fucking, Bristle Faced, Butter Nutted, Cranberry Flavored Drizzle Berry,

What the fucking, freaking, fag-shazzled, marg-o-wartizzling, ramshackled, grahzny, callish, forsaken, watershed, bone-shanked, crank-shafting, grizzlebee, goddamn, rednecked, bluethumbed, greenfaced, and cum-shellacked bastard (and you have gangrene). You motherfucking, grandstand, last calling, frizzle fried, beach whaling, ass bagging, broken elbowed, kneeless, flucking, bright-eyed, starry-skied, wee-ninny of an Amsterdam breadhouse that can't sloshy the backwooded, no good, mint flavored, dick-skewering, Alcatrazinationacariononion edification of the black ghost that never fucking, Christ-knifing even wanted your help in the first fucking, god-forsaken, back-breaking place. Now eat shit, die, regenerate, copulate, opitulate, fornicate, be irate, investigate, sleep with Nate, reiterate, cook the tate, flam-boilate, masticate (the shit, of course), ninja-icate, fight with fate, show up real late, throw the bait, and then finish it off with some smooth masturbation that is well deserved after a hard day's work.

Remember to have some fucking, plee-making, rain-checking manners, why don't you!?,
- !@#$ with the ^%#$ in the &^#!!!