Velvet Eyes
Dear Joan by D B Cooper

Dear Joan
This has been coming for a long time as we both know, its not you, its me. More specifically it’s the me that’s not prepared to put up with you being a slack minged, dick jockey who would wrestle a 500 pound mountain gorilla to the jizz stained floor of a provincial town nightclub toilet just to have a quick pogo on his rancid primate cock. I honestly believe that if we do ever make contact with intelligent alien life it will only be a matter of hours after first contact before you are stuffing an oversized fluorescent green E.T. member into your whorish gob and beaming yourself aboard for a full orifice probing. I’ve decided that you can keep the house as I have no doubt that every surface including the dog basket is covered with more bodily fluids than the walls of an Amsterdam nudie booth. I wish you well in your continued efforts to make it into the Guinness Book of Slags and look forward to seeing your wizened face staring out of Greasy Munters website in several years time in the ‘Will inhale for cash’ section.


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