Mother, I have found the nude actress I shall marry
Jan. the 10th, 1921
Dearest Mother—
I write now to inform you of recent events concerning my relocation to the city. My furnishings, though spare, are not wanting, save for the army of mice which nibble nightly my toenails. I consider this minor annoyance a fair trade for the time saved me in grooming, and am enclosing two in this envelope as a convenient device.
Work has begun building a statue of our overlord Xenu,* twelve stories at the eye, and constructed to expel fire from the maw every day at lunchtime. I am not without friends, having joined a circle of my fellow slaves in plotting an escape. By day I am gainfully employed as a bricklayer in the statue’s foundation, and at night train as the wormy guy who will betray the group’s bid for freedom in exchange for a second ration of crusty bread. I make extra money on weekends hurling orphaned babes into the sea for the church. These events, constituting the labours of my days, are nonetheless not why I write to you.
Mother, I can contain myself no longer—I have found the nude actress I shall marry!
Her name is Julie, though I suspect this to be a stage name, as she has the hungry, distrusting gaze of a Russian. Shall I describe her to you? O yes, let’s do!
My Julie is no mere amateur slut, mother. Be assured her need for the c__k is both abundant and deep, but therein she brings to her part the innocence and peace of a cot death baby taken by The Lord for His own purposes. The glaze that falls over her eyes as she accepts the rhythmic thrusts of her lover tells me she has yet to be used by a man who truly venerates her worth. Many a blue film has been enriched by my fetching lady’s guttural moans and staccato grunts.
Julie’s legs are as lean as a calf’s and splayed, form the fullest rump as man could ever hope to seize upon with a buffet of blows from behind. If she then, expressing desire to be ravished, requests I call her a filthy strumpet, she shall not be wanting in this regard, I assure you, and happily done besides.
Her woman’s burden, when she presents—ah, but it is a flush unmatched here on Earth. She has the rose petals of a fallen angel, dearest mother, fulsome in repose and ripe for the jackhammering by man, midget, or muff-hungry Sapphic paramour. I dream of one day making her my wife, that I may come home earlier than is my custom from the day’s occupations to find myself cuckolded by a male sex so large and fulsome I may never dare to match it.
You have advised me often to be careful in my frenzy, lest I make a bad match with an ill-mannered tart with a physiognomy scarcely fit to take sizzling loads. Rest ye assured that Julie is the most genteel of adult entertaintrices, playing bookish schoolgirls and librarians in need of hard tutelage. You will approve of her, I have no doubt, after you meet her and pass an afternoon testing her carnal knowledge to ensure a pleasing match with your beloved progeny.
If, then, you still find her lacking, I shall be a dutiful son, and without hesitation evict her from the bang bus.
Kindly,
Thos. Ambrose Chesterbottom IV
*(Fun fact! Every time we point out Scientology is a stupid, dangerous cult, our lawyers earn another $200 of their annual retainer!)
Brendan McGinley makes webcomics when not writing for National Lampoon, Cracked, MTV, and Maxim. Yes, he is part of the problem. Brendan McGinley makes webcomics when not writing for National Lampoon, Cracked, MTV, and Maxim. Yes, he is part of the problem.
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