Part 1 ( introducing two girls at a corner bodega)
In a corner bodega towards placid evening, along northern city outskirt perimeters, a friend and I made our way to the ambiguous store clerk. My life would never be the same; after laying frail, throbbing, afternoon eyes upon her and an obese friend exiting the condiment aisle. It was she that caught more of my attention (small pale outline: I was not extremely taken aback at first, there was something attractive about her slender face and petite body-frame). I asked her if she'd like to accompany us for the rest of the evening; she could bring her friend, if she liked.
Things got to be a bit crazy during those times; one-bedroom, second-story apartment that Tatum and I shared. I resigned all my weekends, days and hours; repeating the same monotonous routines, all centered around the same desired objective: falling in love.
Tatum somehow got me a job at the ticket window of a neighborhood cinema. It somehow happened that day; I had no recollection of working there the prior three nights, due to hazingly, encapturing benzo-blackouts, the conversation in the bodega went something like this:
Tatum: after you got off work last night.
Me: I worked last night?
Tatum: yeah, you actually worked the past three nights.
Me: no, really?, where do I work?
Tatum: I'm actually not that surprised that you can't remember, you were probably on a benzo high or something. Our friend Adrian got you a job at the Ridge Valley theatre at the ticket window.
Me: All right I'll be getting paid!, sounds like a great job!
Tatum: It's actually a terrible job, high stress level; a lot of spoiled teenagers, there was a really hot, young girl hanging around your booth last night, you kept talking to her, you probably don't remember that either.
Me: ah, ha!. no, no I don't
Part 2 ( I started dating you, winning your stale, delicate acquaintance through myriad attempts of insidious, child-like charm)
In the sensual cured-meat and cheese department, we made passionate love upon aromatic floor tiles. Your moist, thriving legs penetrated thick illustrious heat. (Noting private foyer dimensions of perpetual flesh sinews and skin doctrines.)
Later in abundant flatland pastures, the threshing wind pushed jet-black hair-bangs across your pensive forehead. Voluptuous mascara shaded overtones, an angelic countenance pervaded your tight, immaculate expression. Alas!, an imperfect climax to endless vain voyages besides vacant city riversides.
Part 3 ( We sat amid languid-green-field-circles with the local minister passing a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream between you and the Cosmetology School sisters)
After I won you over; our relationship exponentially increased. You became the strong woman you set out to become, inevitably. Our love molded around each other; tenuous sinews intertwined. Your body became my perpetual expressway to self-realization. You taught me all about women's-rights in style. To be your long-awaited boyfriend: I was never so proud of anything, not even in sordid trivial dream landscapes.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Raw Penetrable Outlines
Time to channel languid dreamlike imagery into ripe lucid realities. I travel on occasion, leaving pale cemented walkways behind me, below the autumnal falling of crescent feet. My subtle footsteps leave no trace of what is, or what could have been:
In naive formalities I came upon her. Taking notice of a young intelligent woman with tell-tale green eyes, sitting upright upon grass recess fields; encircling a young crowd of women, telling vague innocent stories. Dark crimson hair that fell all around her slender shoulders. Her portrait came across rather crisp to me, amidst bleary-eyed adolescent conceptions. High-school hallways; the resilient magnets of youth. Gym-Auditorium dances and juvenile recreation. After school promenades homeward, tiresome; embedded upon county trails of weekday routine. What took place was nothing short of god's work, in his own time.
I still dream about the idea of her, in all actuality, perhaps a long way from truth, and this is okay:
What has become of me lately? Dry months of endless hours, blaring sun at my back, breaking a sweat at the slightest effort. Darling, how youth escaped me! Venerable, youth. You taught me how to become a man, in your own way. Was I ready? Probably not, that's why the lesson remains invaluable to me:
Mistress of stale thwarted evenings beside residential fireplaces. Candelabra outlines brass and brimmed. Antique diamond chandeliers sway among fluorescent light bulb fixtures. Cool breezes sift through velvet drapery, softly. I dream of you to this day. An afternoon hour or three, will you come and visit me? I've become elastic-molded upon a fluctuating timeline of middle-aged mediocrity. Well furnished aromatic bathroom tiles and air freshener. Linoleum floorboard or porcelain kitchen upholstery? Daytime-edged suburbia, in the common hearth of abundance. Working class arenas exposed; upon awakening, morning thighs bruised and naked. Sultry flowers in Autumn dens of past reconciliation.
I was a confused teenager that loved the way you walked, how you wore your jeans rejuvenated my beating heart beyond comprehensible comparison. I was interested, intrigued, and infatuated with you. Amorous of your primitive ancestry, your taste in classic rock. My shower shampoo (Pantene) pervades a priceless whiff of nostalgic recollection. Promiscuous, fluttering bangs of hair, your eyes contained within your delicate, prevalent features. Do people still make love in the morning?, that is what I'd like to do with you. Take you up to my four-cornered bedroom, and recapture our illustrious sadness and inevitable growth, the primitive folly of abandoned decades. Were the '90s good to us? I would like to see how you are today.
Luminous memories of your cigarette-end embraces, upon soiled beige bedsheets. Prehistoric and aluminum, 2nd story balconies remain after my abrupt departure. Backyard poplar tress that sigh upon grim brief acquaintances. The brisk, clean Wisconsin air surrounding dated pastimes and faded playgrounds. Nocturnal guidelines have kept me predisposed in a rather timely manner. Ravenous blood still streams through my frail tenuous sinews. Don't get me wrong, I'm still carnivorous and thriving; on recalling the fruits of your raw, penetrable outline.
In naive formalities I came upon her. Taking notice of a young intelligent woman with tell-tale green eyes, sitting upright upon grass recess fields; encircling a young crowd of women, telling vague innocent stories. Dark crimson hair that fell all around her slender shoulders. Her portrait came across rather crisp to me, amidst bleary-eyed adolescent conceptions. High-school hallways; the resilient magnets of youth. Gym-Auditorium dances and juvenile recreation. After school promenades homeward, tiresome; embedded upon county trails of weekday routine. What took place was nothing short of god's work, in his own time.
I still dream about the idea of her, in all actuality, perhaps a long way from truth, and this is okay:
What has become of me lately? Dry months of endless hours, blaring sun at my back, breaking a sweat at the slightest effort. Darling, how youth escaped me! Venerable, youth. You taught me how to become a man, in your own way. Was I ready? Probably not, that's why the lesson remains invaluable to me:
Mistress of stale thwarted evenings beside residential fireplaces. Candelabra outlines brass and brimmed. Antique diamond chandeliers sway among fluorescent light bulb fixtures. Cool breezes sift through velvet drapery, softly. I dream of you to this day. An afternoon hour or three, will you come and visit me? I've become elastic-molded upon a fluctuating timeline of middle-aged mediocrity. Well furnished aromatic bathroom tiles and air freshener. Linoleum floorboard or porcelain kitchen upholstery? Daytime-edged suburbia, in the common hearth of abundance. Working class arenas exposed; upon awakening, morning thighs bruised and naked. Sultry flowers in Autumn dens of past reconciliation.
I was a confused teenager that loved the way you walked, how you wore your jeans rejuvenated my beating heart beyond comprehensible comparison. I was interested, intrigued, and infatuated with you. Amorous of your primitive ancestry, your taste in classic rock. My shower shampoo (Pantene) pervades a priceless whiff of nostalgic recollection. Promiscuous, fluttering bangs of hair, your eyes contained within your delicate, prevalent features. Do people still make love in the morning?, that is what I'd like to do with you. Take you up to my four-cornered bedroom, and recapture our illustrious sadness and inevitable growth, the primitive folly of abandoned decades. Were the '90s good to us? I would like to see how you are today.
Luminous memories of your cigarette-end embraces, upon soiled beige bedsheets. Prehistoric and aluminum, 2nd story balconies remain after my abrupt departure. Backyard poplar tress that sigh upon grim brief acquaintances. The brisk, clean Wisconsin air surrounding dated pastimes and faded playgrounds. Nocturnal guidelines have kept me predisposed in a rather timely manner. Ravenous blood still streams through my frail tenuous sinews. Don't get me wrong, I'm still carnivorous and thriving; on recalling the fruits of your raw, penetrable outline.
Friday, July 13, 2012
He Never Touched You Again
In last night's session, you telephoned me over neighborhood telephone wires; between village roadsign arenas that penetrate county surfaces. In your young feminine voice, something steadily dripped; stirring silently. In your violet immaculate eyes, I imagined red acacias; awakening moisture of Sunday's bloom. When I arrived in casual provenance; we lingered delicately in languid pools of conversation and eloquent supplements. Your immediate family weeps eternally, for primitive folly of foreboding centuries. Billiards at high noon. Unopened whiskey bottles and coffee spoons. Elementary afternoon gardens sway and daydream; Summer evenings beside the rolling Seine. Rivers apart yet pastures away, our bodies tremble in pensive possession. My feeble arms suffice your supple body frame adequately. There are midnight stars in your jeweled pupils that cry out mercifully below mascara eyelids.
Nighttime parking lots and prescription benzo-blackouts. We thought we had it made in city alleyways behind local barber-shops. Our frail hands together resembling strip mall edifices. I came to visit you twice in the ER that night. It was Autumn and it rained like hell. In blossoming Springtime acquaintances; morning comes too soon. I sat there dead in your placid room while you slept off prior rationalizations of artificial blackbirds. We spoke when you awoke; of nocturnal sparrows, and malt liquor furnishings on fifth story project balconies. I came to save you from your abusive father, who raped and tortured you in traumatic intervals. Coming up behind him, strangling him with pulsating wrists. He lay on the floor in a residential frenzy. He never touched you again. I would have killed him if not for your neurotic brother Timmy. Thank god for Tim.
I recall when passion first escaped you. A young girl in sultry boundaries of fluorescent foyers, along stale vacated corridors. He drank beer and watched T.V. in sordid living room quarters. You lay isolated upon adolescent bedsheets. You'd hear him coming down remote hallway entrances. Through backdoor kitchen vestibules; upon linoleum floorboard surfaces. You felt your blood boil in cruel anticipation; heart racing, legs outstretched. You knew it was time again; to become a woman too soon, and you did.
Upon meeting you in outdoor patio environments; sharing appetizers in moonlit surroundings. I made you laugh; you liked me. I loved you insatiably. We made love that night among purified courtyards; where myriad laurels flourished abundantly. I remain your lover, holding the death of a young girl in my bleeding heart, and the angelic hands of a depraved matured woman in my pale fingertips.
Nighttime parking lots and prescription benzo-blackouts. We thought we had it made in city alleyways behind local barber-shops. Our frail hands together resembling strip mall edifices. I came to visit you twice in the ER that night. It was Autumn and it rained like hell. In blossoming Springtime acquaintances; morning comes too soon. I sat there dead in your placid room while you slept off prior rationalizations of artificial blackbirds. We spoke when you awoke; of nocturnal sparrows, and malt liquor furnishings on fifth story project balconies. I came to save you from your abusive father, who raped and tortured you in traumatic intervals. Coming up behind him, strangling him with pulsating wrists. He lay on the floor in a residential frenzy. He never touched you again. I would have killed him if not for your neurotic brother Timmy. Thank god for Tim.
I recall when passion first escaped you. A young girl in sultry boundaries of fluorescent foyers, along stale vacated corridors. He drank beer and watched T.V. in sordid living room quarters. You lay isolated upon adolescent bedsheets. You'd hear him coming down remote hallway entrances. Through backdoor kitchen vestibules; upon linoleum floorboard surfaces. You felt your blood boil in cruel anticipation; heart racing, legs outstretched. You knew it was time again; to become a woman too soon, and you did.
Upon meeting you in outdoor patio environments; sharing appetizers in moonlit surroundings. I made you laugh; you liked me. I loved you insatiably. We made love that night among purified courtyards; where myriad laurels flourished abundantly. I remain your lover, holding the death of a young girl in my bleeding heart, and the angelic hands of a depraved matured woman in my pale fingertips.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
"Bury The Dagger"
What is this penetrable scented aura surrounding neighborhood railway stations? Is it the looming stained- glass gallery vampire children that envelope trolley track transit corridors? On exiting promiscuous vulnerable vulture-like establishments. Friendly concierge receptionists unravel down ticket-counter corridors and primitive materialized hallways of frivolous standardized deceit. Portrait parlor eyes amid vacant shuttered trimmings. The petite-small- hand dealing out seconds, worn spades, and angry minutes in laborious intervals, treacherous merchant screams from naive adolescent schoolgirls. "Tick, tock", one of my ancestors got stuck in a clock, local and monotonous: beating past stale phys-ed class gym arenas, (one more) got sick in the head.
I touch the night swooping down darkened birch bird-like chimney entrances, down the hatch they go, street-thug pigeons, African and American to and Afro. Fuzzy brown cemetery certainties and daytime convalescent criminals commence to pulsate and stir pulling down sultry windows along dingy burgundy bedroom curtains, slumbering afternoon wine nap-bibs, giggles, goggles, and sport past-time entities.
She hurled a six by eight metal crowbar from a residential fourth-story apartment balcony, acquiring delicate bedsores on her tepid heel-line. Clutching velvet drapery dangling sawed off carrot stem scenery in pensive agony and sourly defeat. I loved you with inquisitive tartar eyeballs peering out onto evening terraces amid putrid Summer community courtyard pastures. Rescuing you with vain knowledge of catastrophic wars and perishable glorified battlefields, all taken out of context.
The long awaited era has finally arrived for you and me, to bury blood stained daggers, restoring renovated cupboard variations to suburban kitchen upholstery. I still love you, you still love me, together will make unfathomable history.
I touch the night swooping down darkened birch bird-like chimney entrances, down the hatch they go, street-thug pigeons, African and American to and Afro. Fuzzy brown cemetery certainties and daytime convalescent criminals commence to pulsate and stir pulling down sultry windows along dingy burgundy bedroom curtains, slumbering afternoon wine nap-bibs, giggles, goggles, and sport past-time entities.
She hurled a six by eight metal crowbar from a residential fourth-story apartment balcony, acquiring delicate bedsores on her tepid heel-line. Clutching velvet drapery dangling sawed off carrot stem scenery in pensive agony and sourly defeat. I loved you with inquisitive tartar eyeballs peering out onto evening terraces amid putrid Summer community courtyard pastures. Rescuing you with vain knowledge of catastrophic wars and perishable glorified battlefields, all taken out of context.
The long awaited era has finally arrived for you and me, to bury blood stained daggers, restoring renovated cupboard variations to suburban kitchen upholstery. I still love you, you still love me, together will make unfathomable history.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Embedded Cemetery Tombstone Variations
Time beings have cursed me infinitely beyond death's grim formalities, Torturous and hungrily deceitful, ashes permeate hearths of famished fires below atoned residential mantelpieces. Adorned in outdoor Summer patio Sundays, lacquered in prior dying Autumns. We watched heartlessly, our tiresome family slip away into maladjusted seasons. A recommended thought to the young resourceful peasant who roams these abandoned deserted hillsides: Heed warning to forbidden worlds, grown slippery by delicate heaving sensibilities.
Night cursed me frequently, with facetious pastimes, for what is a lie to a liar?, aside from pretentious truths. Her nocturnal black eyeliner presumes vulnerable hawk-like tendencies, where under her firm velour brassiere resides frail beating sinews. Love speaks through illustrious undertones unfathomable to human interpretation. Caligula, prince of majestic erotic livelihoods, paid dearly his promiscuous endeavors, to severe narcissistic entitlements. One shall fear presumptuous tidings of passion's unstable foundation. Consequence breathes evening gusts through midnight mirages and crimson windowed curtains in well furnished parlor vestibules. Antique diamond chandeliers sway to slight reverberations from remote foyers.
Chambermaids wrapped in cotton-brown shawled garments among depraved diseased uncoiled Winters. Unforgiving January in all it's broad premonitions and misgivings. Love is meant to be lost, placed parallel to embedded cemetery tombstone variations. True, love from a woman may be the greatest glory of all, (but only to cowardly peasant convalescent pedestrians). A trophy portrait frame subsided on pillared wall ceiling standards amid suburban household establishments. A young juvenile primitive feline females senior year photograph in wooden trimmings. She dabbled with some sports growing up in naive adolescent forums. Indulged in amateur theatre arenas and tell-tale cinema corridors. She told me she would love me forever, she lied to a liar. To this circumstantial reverence, I exercise the fifth amendment. She believed what she told me while she was saying it.
It is jaw-dropping what we did to each other along life's timeline and it's inquisitive intervals. How we treated each other should of been a crime. People sure are Fucked up in the head. True, we are naturally selfish creatures, but come on grow up a little bit and sacrifice some kindness for the good of others, and mainly for yourself,
Night cursed me frequently, with facetious pastimes, for what is a lie to a liar?, aside from pretentious truths. Her nocturnal black eyeliner presumes vulnerable hawk-like tendencies, where under her firm velour brassiere resides frail beating sinews. Love speaks through illustrious undertones unfathomable to human interpretation. Caligula, prince of majestic erotic livelihoods, paid dearly his promiscuous endeavors, to severe narcissistic entitlements. One shall fear presumptuous tidings of passion's unstable foundation. Consequence breathes evening gusts through midnight mirages and crimson windowed curtains in well furnished parlor vestibules. Antique diamond chandeliers sway to slight reverberations from remote foyers.
Chambermaids wrapped in cotton-brown shawled garments among depraved diseased uncoiled Winters. Unforgiving January in all it's broad premonitions and misgivings. Love is meant to be lost, placed parallel to embedded cemetery tombstone variations. True, love from a woman may be the greatest glory of all, (but only to cowardly peasant convalescent pedestrians). A trophy portrait frame subsided on pillared wall ceiling standards amid suburban household establishments. A young juvenile primitive feline females senior year photograph in wooden trimmings. She dabbled with some sports growing up in naive adolescent forums. Indulged in amateur theatre arenas and tell-tale cinema corridors. She told me she would love me forever, she lied to a liar. To this circumstantial reverence, I exercise the fifth amendment. She believed what she told me while she was saying it.
It is jaw-dropping what we did to each other along life's timeline and it's inquisitive intervals. How we treated each other should of been a crime. People sure are Fucked up in the head. True, we are naturally selfish creatures, but come on grow up a little bit and sacrifice some kindness for the good of others, and mainly for yourself,
Friday, July 6, 2012
"It takes two to make a thing go wrong"
I watched you lingering in futile outdoor perimeters dear, years prior to sweltering desolation arenas amid prevalent Summer. I watched you converse with impressive concierges at distinguished hotel lobby desks. Wildwood, New Jersey 2001. A nighttime telephone call away, you told me you never wanted to see me again, this I understood quite clearly. A clamorous lengthy three years flushed down putrid sewer canal-ways.
Now taking you back to Eastern Coastal shorelines about ten years ago. I being much younger and naive, thinking the world was my rancid oyster, that every young woman should of earned the eloquent luxury of my acquaintance. Primitive talk subsided from juvenile mouth frames. Languid sea salted margarita afternoons beside established swimming pools. Air conditioned throughout thawed out daytime hours. You in short-shorts, me strolling effervescently down narrow fluorescent hallways in desperate need of a chaser. Condiment moonlight evenings descended heat from skyline chambers in sultry months of carnivorous realities, I being the convalescent Alpha male, or so I thought.
Being frank with you these days, I might be quite brutally aware of my feelings for you during those times, I did not love you my dear. Maybe as much as a couple lukewarm beers while on break from work at the illustrious diner residing down neighborhood sidewalks. Do not let this diminish your self-esteem, I do not believe I ever loved anyone. With the stemming jawline of adolescent foxes scurrying down nature's pathways, rabid foxhole prayers shouted out vainly to false gods I will never have faith in.
I do not like life much more without you in it, although I must admit it is much more comfortable, it takes two to make a thing go wrong. Always someone to point a finger at. Love exists in romantic novels, cinema, and Hallmark gift cards. On the other hand presently, I do tend to indulge in lust and idealizations. To each his own I presume discreetly.
Now taking you back to Eastern Coastal shorelines about ten years ago. I being much younger and naive, thinking the world was my rancid oyster, that every young woman should of earned the eloquent luxury of my acquaintance. Primitive talk subsided from juvenile mouth frames. Languid sea salted margarita afternoons beside established swimming pools. Air conditioned throughout thawed out daytime hours. You in short-shorts, me strolling effervescently down narrow fluorescent hallways in desperate need of a chaser. Condiment moonlight evenings descended heat from skyline chambers in sultry months of carnivorous realities, I being the convalescent Alpha male, or so I thought.
Being frank with you these days, I might be quite brutally aware of my feelings for you during those times, I did not love you my dear. Maybe as much as a couple lukewarm beers while on break from work at the illustrious diner residing down neighborhood sidewalks. Do not let this diminish your self-esteem, I do not believe I ever loved anyone. With the stemming jawline of adolescent foxes scurrying down nature's pathways, rabid foxhole prayers shouted out vainly to false gods I will never have faith in.
I do not like life much more without you in it, although I must admit it is much more comfortable, it takes two to make a thing go wrong. Always someone to point a finger at. Love exists in romantic novels, cinema, and Hallmark gift cards. On the other hand presently, I do tend to indulge in lust and idealizations. To each his own I presume discreetly.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
"Letter to a Promiscuous Librarian"
You're a sexy librarian with a handsome complexion, dark features, I'm at deaths remote doorway again. Are you still smoking filter-less cigarettes?. Years ago I drank myself into a bottomless frenzy. Circumstantial reverence. Sure, I still daydream of you from time to time, about your shadow waltzing down narrow corridors, of darkened architecture. Somewhat tall you are right?, or weren't you? Eyes of brilliant blue that compliment your feminine demeanor. I marvel along your predominant stature. I shall allude to the magnificence of your pale milky thighs wrapped around my vulnerable bird-like throat.
Truth is, what I'm trying to do is nothing new. It's all been done before. I'm like an old stale pack of margarine that's been left out in the sweltering heat too long. Still Rainy on Tuesdays are you?, it's when I'd find you sleeping on your elderly Great Aunt's residential crimson sofa. She, a poor depraved woman who doesn't believe in window air conditioning units. Maybe she does but she is just a cheap miserable inexpensive Jew. Who knows? To this day I still marvel at your Hungarian Jawline, it is marvelous and something to be admired. I like a nice tall girl also. That is why I prefer you with Towering stiletto heels. I won't be that straight forward about what I want you to do to me. Do you still run an illegal phone sex ring on the outskirts of the Pocono's? It's none of my business I know. You don't have to tell me.
Hopefully by the time you get this letter I'll be on my way to your domestic quarters, running perpendicular to the vast heaving Appalachians. I'm taking my stepfather's jeep, well you know, it's not that much of a gas guzzler, not like that '86 Buick he still claims he's gonna fix up someday. The poor old bastard. He's not a bad guy though. Not like your mother the whore. Just kidding, don't get all riled up now. This Summer should be just like the old ones, If i presume correctly. We'll take your thirteen year old long-haired chihuahua "Belvedere" and throw him overboard from your great aunts canoe. Then as always, you'll win the contest (being the better swimmer) by rescuing him, and I'll have to slam down fifteen mind-erasers in one minute. After consuming all those disgusting Liqueurs you'll take me up to the guest bedroom, strip me down naked, throw on your Winnie-the-Pooh outfit, then ram me from behind with a twelve inch black dildo. You know you're the only one that I'd let do this to me, you bad bad naughty girl you.
But you know one thing I failed to mention, was how much I missed you the past few years. How are things going at the library?. Do you still see Geno and Dave sometimes down by the uptown warehouses? How did you leave things with Maurice?, Did he ever end up taking those nighttime courses that you wanted him to take? I guess we'll have time to catch up on all this stuff.
P.S. You better have something for me when I come up there, and I'm not talking about cousin Bobby's wardrobe that you inherited after the accident. I'm talking about my $$$$. You owed me that bread for a long time now. I don't want to have to go busting kneecaps now? You wouldn't want that would you? Well let's just keep our fingers crossed maybe we'll be able to work something out. It's only 6 grand. Maybe I can have you pay it all back in installments. How did you ever pay me back the last time? Did you really Fuck all those guys? Hold on a minute don't answer that question. Or at least not just yet. I will smell you later on.
Your friend
Pierre Von Strauss
Truth is, what I'm trying to do is nothing new. It's all been done before. I'm like an old stale pack of margarine that's been left out in the sweltering heat too long. Still Rainy on Tuesdays are you?, it's when I'd find you sleeping on your elderly Great Aunt's residential crimson sofa. She, a poor depraved woman who doesn't believe in window air conditioning units. Maybe she does but she is just a cheap miserable inexpensive Jew. Who knows? To this day I still marvel at your Hungarian Jawline, it is marvelous and something to be admired. I like a nice tall girl also. That is why I prefer you with Towering stiletto heels. I won't be that straight forward about what I want you to do to me. Do you still run an illegal phone sex ring on the outskirts of the Pocono's? It's none of my business I know. You don't have to tell me.
Hopefully by the time you get this letter I'll be on my way to your domestic quarters, running perpendicular to the vast heaving Appalachians. I'm taking my stepfather's jeep, well you know, it's not that much of a gas guzzler, not like that '86 Buick he still claims he's gonna fix up someday. The poor old bastard. He's not a bad guy though. Not like your mother the whore. Just kidding, don't get all riled up now. This Summer should be just like the old ones, If i presume correctly. We'll take your thirteen year old long-haired chihuahua "Belvedere" and throw him overboard from your great aunts canoe. Then as always, you'll win the contest (being the better swimmer) by rescuing him, and I'll have to slam down fifteen mind-erasers in one minute. After consuming all those disgusting Liqueurs you'll take me up to the guest bedroom, strip me down naked, throw on your Winnie-the-Pooh outfit, then ram me from behind with a twelve inch black dildo. You know you're the only one that I'd let do this to me, you bad bad naughty girl you.
But you know one thing I failed to mention, was how much I missed you the past few years. How are things going at the library?. Do you still see Geno and Dave sometimes down by the uptown warehouses? How did you leave things with Maurice?, Did he ever end up taking those nighttime courses that you wanted him to take? I guess we'll have time to catch up on all this stuff.
P.S. You better have something for me when I come up there, and I'm not talking about cousin Bobby's wardrobe that you inherited after the accident. I'm talking about my $$$$. You owed me that bread for a long time now. I don't want to have to go busting kneecaps now? You wouldn't want that would you? Well let's just keep our fingers crossed maybe we'll be able to work something out. It's only 6 grand. Maybe I can have you pay it all back in installments. How did you ever pay me back the last time? Did you really Fuck all those guys? Hold on a minute don't answer that question. Or at least not just yet. I will smell you later on.
Your friend
Pierre Von Strauss
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