My Penthouse Letter

Dear Penthouse,

I never thought I’d write a letter like this because a) got no hands and b) am super illiterate and c) do they even make Penthouse anymore? and d) don’t people just use the internet for naked ladies? and e) wait, do people even write actual letters on paper anymore, I mean isn’t that sort of played out and corny? and f) I forget what f was for.

But then something happened to me that was so sexually weird and gross and true that I decided to hire a secretary to transcribe my every word in fancy swirly letters so I could send you my very true story. She’s doing it right now. I am saying these words and she is writing them down as I say them. Hello my name is Josh. Now I am talking very fast can she keep up uh oh she’s starting to panic and her hand is cramping ya ya ya ya blee bloo pee poo. OK, sorry Martha, I’m just funnin’ around. Did you spell funnin’ with no g at the end? Wow, you are good. Craigslist, you done it again.

All right anyway let’s get to the crazy fuck story that happened to me when I was working the night shift at the Center for Jewish History. It was just an ordinary night for me, who is blond, six foot four and basically all muscle.

You know what, I am not transcribing this jerk for one more second. I’ll just write this so he thinks I’m—oh god he actually just said a total poon explosion or should I say sexplosion. I really need to get a new job. Something where I can finally put my doctorate in poetry analysis to work. Maybe I could be a staff writer for The Endless Ache of Days blog. I heard Valmont just killed himself by overdosing on absinthe so there should be an opening.

Sincerely,
Joshua Allen

» Rating: THREE SEXY LADIES