A Love Letter to America’s Mesopotamian Friend With Benefits
I found this letter buried beneath John Ashcroft’s Water Wiggle in a trunk in the basement. I wonder if we forgot to mail it? Gonna have to go get some stamps…*
mjs
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Dear Snuggle Pumpers,
Look, baby, you know I love you. Your belly full of oil, your eyes full of desire, your swarthy swarthiness—I wanted you in the worst way, which is the best way I want things. When I want something, I take it, and I slap it around and punch it and go to town, you know what I mean? And I wanted you, baby. You. It was always you. Well, since the internal combustion engine anyway…
I knocked you off your feet, and then picked you up by your feet, and then I dropped you…I admit I dropped you—but I picked you up again, and then, admittedly, dropped you once more, oh, but darn it, I just kept on picking you up. And dropping you. It was all good fun…at first. I slapped your thighs but good and gained the golden hall without so much as a titty-tickle and wham! came off like Speed Racer—it was good. Damn good. Get the bleach out good. Emission accomplished good. Jack-off in the shower while visualizing Max Boot good, now-that-I-think-about-it-good.
And remember when I found your daddy and got his buddies to fuck his ass up something fierce so we could be together, just you and me and some contractors? And then it was mostly just you and me (and the contractors, but what can you do?) and a future filled with flying carpets and easy money and then…oh, criminey, but I went soft. I’ll admit it. I went soft like a White House reporter full of cocktail weenies and Swedish vodka. Yeah, that soft. Read more
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