When Becky's picture shows up on the side of a milk carton- cover for me, will you?

With all this free time on my hands, I finally found time to open up my mail-hole bag (that's what SHE said!) and peruse some of my fan mail. Usually I have my manservant, Renaldo, do this sort of thing so I can avoid touching anything you "common" people have touched, but he came down with a raging case of anal herpes and will be bedridden for a month. Fiddlesticks.

I get mail from all sorts of folks, today I'll show you a smattering of the joy I encounter each and every day when I wait for the mailman dressed in my most elegant eveningwear.

Our first letter comes from a fellow primate lover, it seems:

Oh, my. Ahem.
Well, Saco (is that pronounced saw-co or say-co?), I can appreciate a fellow monkey-lover as much as the next girl. Lord, how I love their funny faces and the way they jauntily fling their feces at us silly humans. Thing is, Saco- I can't say I've ever had sexual feelings towards a monkey- well, not unless you count the monkey from Every Which Way but Loose. Now THAT was a good-looking, sexy monkey- am I right girls? Am I right?

But honestly, Saco- I don't see this working out for us. I'm not into furries and I'm certainly not into poo-flinging primates- not in the bow-bow-chicka-bow sense, anyways. I'm sending you the number of your local zoo- maybe you will find the sweet, sweet monkey love that you are looking for there. Or you'll get arrested. Whatever- not my problem anymore.

My next letter comes from one of my younger fans. Well, at least I think it's from someone under the age of 10, judging from the handwriting, stickers, and faint scent of crayola crayons and glue emanating from the envelope:

Well, Becky- your letter has me confused and worried. Do Mommy and Daddy let you go on the com-pu-tor all by yourself and read whatever you want? Are Mommy and Daddy too busy drinking "adult juice" on the back porch while smoking those funny-smelling cigarettes to notice you? Or, did Mommy and Daddy give you away to that bill collector that came to the house because Daddy spent all the family's money on gambling and "special lady friends"?

Let me tell you, Becky, no matter why you're here, I welcome you. I enjoy the chance to mold a young mind, and I do indeed like unicorns and rainbows. By the time I'm done with you, you'll know how to make a perfect martini, you'll have mastered the art of picking your unders out of your bum in public places, and you'll probably have been arrested- but don't worry, you're still a juvenile so it's all good. Think of me as your mentor- your BFF, if you will. We have so much to do, Becky. Now go find Mommy's credit cards and use them take the first bus here- I'll be anxoiusly awaiting your arrival with many catalogs in hand. How do you feel about shopping, Becky...?

The next letter I found under my pillow this morning. I'm not sure how it got there, but it sure was a thoughtful gesture, whoever did it:
First off, Klaus- you seem to struggle with the fine art of letter writing. Just an FYI- just because you cross it out doesn't mean I can't read it. It's not like some sort of invisibility cloak, dummy. Second, thank you from the bottom of my heart for keeping my posture problem a secret- people can be so cruel towards the posturally-challenged. Dumbass. Now everyone knows about my slouching AND my laziness when it comes to keeping up with my waxing. Oh well, I'm sure most of my female readers share this problem, right? It's really common, right? Right?

Ooh- I love when I get letters from friends!!! This next one is from my bestest girl, Gwen:
Oh, Gwennie, you so silly. It's so cute how you keep trying to make people think you don't eat babies when you already admitted it. Fine, we'll keep your secret. OK, everyone? Don't tell anyone else that Gwen eats babies. Thanks a ton.

This next one was hand-delivered (OK, mouth-delivered) by my new doggie, Bubs this morning:
Oh, Bubs. If you didn't want me laughing at your little funny weiner, then you shouldn't HAVE a little, funny weiner. I'm sorry baby, I can't help myself. Get used to it, sweetie.

Finally, this last one was tucked into my mail yesterday. I think it might be from my hot mailman who (I suspect) has a gigantic crush on me:

Oh, he's so shy. He's trying to tell me he loves me, but he's too socially awkward to say it straight out. I think this is code for "Next time, please meet me at the door wearing nothing but a thong and pasties. I lust for you."
Benny, Benny, Benny- ours is a forbidden love- we must look but not touch. Remember- last time I tried to touch you someone took out a restraining order on me. I know it wasn't you, silly. I'm sure it was your mean bosses at the Post Office. Hey, hasn't that thing expired by now? Hmmm...maybe I should see for sure tomorrow- what time can I expect to touch you?

****************************************

Well, that's all the mail I have time for today, my little mail monkeys. Until our next installment...

Any correspondence/complaints/questions/boxes of candy can be sent to:

Whiskeymarie VonPartypants
666 Bubbles Terrace
St. Paul, MN 55666

*Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, Inc. in no way endorses bestiality, gratuitous nudity, sexually harrassing letter-carriers, or eating babies.
*WVP, Inc does, however, endorse giggling at dog's weiners. Weiners are funny. Tee-hee. Weiner.

XO