Dearest Laura,
I want to …. uh …
Dearest Laura, I need you, you are my ginger-ho.
Dearest Laura, we can strive to be the rulers of the wasteland, our children will live feral lives our mongrel dogs will eat old-English flesh. I will resume my studies, looking into the funeral plan and you can become that HOT TEACHER, filling the spank bank, every boy to a man. And we shall RISE UP like the phoenix after the fire shower and those wolf-rebels will bow to US and be our glower …
I remember you LAURA, when you were young and nice and mild. I remember you when your life was that of a child, and we would fish for big cats and you would mock my pole, and we would laugh for hours, along the meadow creek. I remember that time the whore doctor aborted that kid and we needed to bury little Sam, because no one wanted him, not even his mum. We were free back then, our hearts so light. I remember you that way Laura, a fighter.
It’s like marriage is a dopey thing and if we get tied, our hearts by a string, the minister makes promises with gliding self, and there is no meter by which the organ makes sense. It’s a being stuck with somebody but it’s not a normal trap, it’s the snare of ages – the ancient curse. You are bent and broken by this lost banshee, and yet you call her your wife?
We will have babes, there names will be foretold. Our children will control the Mexican, and the railroad dingo will offer the throne. Beyond our years, as the grey turns to dust and the mind becomes rust, our lives will be rich, you’ll be my BITCH … and I love you …
… dearest Laura …
I need to tell you something, it’s about farmer Jack.
A few years back, after the great storm took out the Haglamite Klan, and the witch-maidens of quadrant-34 relented before the shirtless battle monks of Houston …
A while back when the last king bowed down and the throne was burned and the human spurned …
There was this farmer guy, Jack, and he owed me $50 for a bet we made. Don’t worry about the bet … maybe it was related to your blind sister’s first kid and how long the child would live. Needless to say, JACK lost the bet and owes me $50 … and I’m none to happy about it. So I go by his place with my new colt .45 pistol, and I demand he pay me … but he wouldn’t.
So I killed him and dumped his body out in the woods for the coyotes.
Oh … yeah … dearest Laura …
I have four rape babies … I used to drink … I’m sober now … but yeah: rape babies.
Yours,
ALMANZO : BIG BLONDE SHIT HEAD
[curated: 4/9/2023]