It Was Tito, Wasn't It Girl

Dominating classy and exotic goddess‏

From:	Bianca (lookingBianca27@****.com)
Sent:	Sat 4/24/10 5:53 AM
To:	****@hotmail.com

hey hru? its been a few days we chatted online for a bit but then my husband came home so i had to rush offline.  sorry about that, I really wanted to talk to you more.  anyways you should write me back,  when you click reply my new email address will be shown to you, PLEASE dont give it out my husband doesnt know about that address and we can talk more  I would really like to meet up with you! I have a cell too that is safe for you to call me, I have it listed on my match account along with some naughty pics  ( my hubby doesnt know i have this account)  there is no charge its a completely free profile  none of that scam stuff  get a profile and my username is Bianca87 the link to the site is http://bit.ly/dnceIh  u can email me back on that address i told you about but i only have my good pics inside my profile so message me there too babe!

talk to you soon xoxoxox Bianca

Ooh Bianca!

Girl you know I been missing you, right?  I just want you to know from the deepest of my depths that I have a craving for your booty that’s so so real.  I mean, in my realest for really realness girl.  I need what you got, Bianca.  BIANCAAAA!  I NEED YOU GIRL!  I’m taking all kinds of night classes at the learning annex to attend to my self-improvement, ‘cause you know I need to bring it to a whole nother level when it comes to bringing the heat to your booty.  I’m gonna fold you up like origami, girl.  Do you even know what that means?

Bianca!  Do you remember that time in St. Tropez when I got stung by a jellyfish on my anus, girl?  The way you applied my salve was so romantical, it made my love for you just grow and grow, like the swelling on my downstairs.  I just remember holding you so tight that night, how you would dry heave from the smell of my salve and I had so much gladness that you didn’t yak on my head while we sleeping.  The way you looked so tired in the morning light that next day made me feel bad that I kept asking you all night long to name and then reconsider which Jackson was your favorite.  Was it Jermaine?  Was it Tito?  It was Tito, wasn’t it girl.  You a Tito woman, that’s why I love you.  Bianca, you know you a Tito woman, ha haaaaa!  If I ever meet Tito at like a remote controlled helicopter convention I’m tell him you into him, Bianca, see if I don’t!  You crazy for that, girl!

You better not leave me for Tito Jackson, girl.  If I ever lose you I’m go CRAZY.  YOU HEAR ME BIANCA?!  I’M GO CRAZY IF YOU QUIT ME GIRL!  YOU CAN’T NEVER LEAVE ME GIRL, YOU MY WHOLE WORLD!  PLEASE, BABY PLEASE SAY YOU WON’T NEVER EVER LEAVE, YOU KNOW I GOT TO HAVE YOUR BOOTY BOTH NIGHT AND DAY, LIKE ALL THE TIMES!  YOU ALL I THINK ABOUT, YOU STRAIGHT UP HAUNT MY DREAMS BIANCA!  I HAVE A HUNGER FOR THAT BOOTY THAT SCARE ME, BIANCA, LIKE SCARE ME SO BAD SOMETIME. 

It’s just…girl I most never had a love like our love, and sometimes when I think about you givin that booty up to another man I just can’t stand it.  I waited my whole life for a booty like your booty, a booty so fine straight-up kings would consider setting down their crown to get just a whiff of it.  I look at you mopping up after we do it in the kitchen and I just get like hypnotized by your sweet booty movin and bending and stretching to clean up our stuff that we make when we get down.  I almost cry in my eyes girl, straight up tears of love for you and what you done for me.  I’m gonna write a book full of my need and love for you, girl.  I’m call it Bianca You My Whole World Don’t You Never Leave Me For Real Girl I Need You.

Chapter One:  Bianca remember how much we did it that one night?  Like really made our love for real?  I lost track of how many jimmies we used that night, I mean it was like the whole pack!  That was a crazy night, girl, you bout wore me out ha haaaaa!

Chapter Two:  I love your booty more than white people who went to private school love the word “gravitas.”

So that’s a little taste of my novelistic endeavors, how do you like it?  I hope you like your book, girl, cause it’s all about you and me and our love and my heart that’s for you.  For you, girl.

Bianca You Better Text Me Girl,

Trios Greene, Your Man

A Sword Swallower With A Persistent Hacking Cough

From: Miss Rose Adams <roseadams205@****.com>
Sent: Sun, November 14, 2010 3:23:32 AM
Subject: Hello Dear Chosen one,

Hello Dear Chosen one, Please excuse me for all the inconveniences my mail could cause you. I have the pleasure to expose to you my predicaments. Please even if we never knew before, I believe firmly that on the basis of the right of humanitarian assistance that a real confidence and love can arise from our communication and also a real partnership between us. I am Rose Adams, the legitimate daughter of the Director of cocoa export murdered by the rebel’s here because of the war and political crisis going on here in my country. My father had deposited a consignment with a security company here containing the sum of 10.700, 000m USD (Ten million seven hundred dollars USD) to allow him to conceive a project of investment at the end of his mandate. Regrettably the fate decided on it otherwise. Today my major concern is to move out this sum outside here. Given that I am the only child and I have seriously suffered from the ragging and the harassments on behalf of the political opponents of my Father. It is in this prospect that I contact you. Because of the political war and the hostilities in this country I seriously wish to leave from here and live the rest of my life in a more peaceful and politically more stable and quiet country. I am honourably seeking your assistance in the following ways: 1) To provide a bank account into which this money would be transferred to . (2) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am under age. (3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education. If you can be of an assistance to me I will be pleased to offer to you 20% of the total fund. I would like to count on your human, virtuous and professional qualities to actualise this project. I look forward to receive your urgent respond Thanks for your care and may God bless you for your kind heart to hear the cry of an orphan. Yours sincerely, Miss Rose Tokyo Rose, Chosen One, that sounds nice!  Chosen One.  I haven’t been chosen for anything for any particular reason since grade school.  I was chosen in grade school for dodge ball, but it was abundantly obvious at the time that the reason was how fat I was in 4th grade.  Chosen One has a much better ring to it than One Who Is Hidden Behind.  My girth and leg braces did not improve my dodge ball prowess, let me assure you. Miss Rose I hope the previous paragraph will convince you I know a thing or two about the ragging and the harassments.  I was ragged by the soda jerk, the butcher, my father’s Girl Friday, the head of the local stevedore union, one of the more prominent hobos, a cotton merchant, the discoverer of two-sided tape, the deaf girl who was in charge of randomly selecting the winning lottery numbers for the state lottery, a man whose face had been burned in an otherwise wholly avoidable firework accident, various yes men, a sword swallower with a persistent hacking cough, and future governor Jesse Ventura.  A diverse group of Americans had a low opinion of me, is what I’m trying to say.   So naturally I turned to termite control as a trade. Termites are fascinating creatures, and in time I came to accultruate myself to their ways.  I learned their phermonal language and bred with their women.  They came to trust me in their own mute way, and when I felt I had their elders lulled into a false sense of security I would spray my chemicals and kill them all.  This process took one and a half afternoons, Rose.  My bosses were not thrilled but they couldn’t argue with my results:  demoralized and one hundred percent dead termites. Don’t worry about any inconveniences your mail might cause me.  It’s easy enough to sort through my stacks and stacks of letters from the dead letter room at the post office and find your letter after I print it off my internet machine and inevitably loose it among the clutter and detritus of my shack.  That’s right Rose, a shack.  I live in a shack, Theodore J. Kaczynski-style.  My property taxes are a bear, though, since my lot in Orlando, Florida is in a rather nice part of town.  My neighbors are beginning to realize that I’m not going to be “developing” the lot any time soon, Rose.  They are not happy about it, and they’ve sent Animal Control by several times to “ask” about the dozens of cats I have living with me.  “Too late, they’re already the beneficiaries of my will, you can’t kick them out” I’d say to the Animal Control officer.  They were definitely annoyed by the legal loophole I’d created.  Rose, I…I ate the cats when they died.  I could tell that’s what they wanted, dying within easy reach of my George Foreman grill like they did.  I mean, how obvious can a cat be about wanting to be panini pressed after it died? Rose, I am all about actualizing this project.  I’ve got some questions about the arrangements I would need to make to get you to American to continue your education, though.  For instance, is the cry of an orphan any different from the cry of a child with only one dead parent?  How attractive are you, as far as underage girls go?  Are we talking like Natalie Portman in The Professional hot, or merely Cindy Brady cute?  This is important to others, not…not me ha ha.  I just want to know I’m betting on a winner, Rose.  Hot girls are like perpetual motion machines:  they exist to be what they are, and no one can figure out how to make one.  We can determine how to make you hotter later, the important thing now I’d say is to give you all my personal information so you can get this money into my Bank of America account.  I burned my Social Security card when I finally got my Kroger card, so I don’t have that information in front of me, but my driver’s license is TU4235522, issuing state Puerto Rico.  I am four feet eleven inches, shoe size boy’s 12.  My suits are from Banana Republic, since I have been blackmailing their CFO for six years.  That was one of my better brainstorms, given that most of my brainstorms result in nose bleeds and ear wax buildup.  I am of mixed ethnicity:  my mother was Scottish and my father was Welsh.  I hope that’s enough information, let me know if you need to know my cup size.  (Here’s a hint:  I’ve used a paper ketchup cup from Wendy’s as a cup in the past.  [Yesterday.]) Help The Cats Have Become Agitated, Alford  Tigh Colmnner

A Kind of Pavlovian Trigger

RE: Hi‏

From:	Lana Pack (****@hotmail.com)
	You may not know this sender.Mark as safe|Mark as junk
Sent:	Thu 4/22/10 9:32 PM
To:

Affordable V na IAGRA $ 1 CIALI yo S $2 LEV kf ITRA

Jeyne. The tall girl? suckling babes for prizes a tenth the size of Tarth. I am not Renly Baratheon, I confess it, but I have

Ms. Pack,

Jeyne was of average height.  I think you’re confused.  And the Tarth lottery, impressive though it might be to someone who’s trying to sell me “vnaiagra,” in my opinion is among the lesser lotteries of our times.  Granted, the Tarth lottery is sizeable for an underground lottery that people rarely talk about except in emails, but I wouldn’t compare it to the Darth lottery.  That might be an unfair comparison, since you have to be a Sith Lord to even enter the Darth lottery.  But you can’t argue that the Tarth lottery’s anything but small potatoes, in the grand scheme of the other Westeros lotteries.  And it’s certainly no Garth lottery.  Little Wayne’s World joke there, haha.  Everyone knows the Garth lottery’s rigged.

Back to Jeyne.  If we’re talking about the same Jeyne, and I can only assume we are, she was sleepy-eyed and brunette, but not tall.  She had a limp from being thrown out of a rickshaw and the nail of her right pointer finger kept falling off, but she was of average height.  Her father was a double agent for Target working in Sears, and eventually he was found out and the Sears people mailed his left hand to Jeyne’s family.  Those monsters even stole his watch and wedding band before they mailed his hand.  I can only imagine what that must have done to Jeyne, but I feel confident in saying that she wouldn’t go around entering competitions where she breast feeding babies.  Especially not for the Tarth lottery, which everyone knows is based in Cambodia and is administered by unsavory characters.  Jeyne was good people before she got run over by that ice cream truck.  There were some among us, myself included, who theorized that she was brainwashed by the Target people to throw herself under the ice cream truck to cover their tracks with her dad, and that they used “The Entertainer” (which is the melody all decent ice cream trucks use to announce their presence) as a kind of Pavlovian trigger…seeing that written out makes it seem a little less plausible. 

No matter.  Suffice it to say that Jeyne got a raw deal and Lana, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep her name out of these levkfitra emails in the future.  Renly Baratheon, on the other hand, is a scoundrel of the first order, and deserves any infamy his actions garner him, I don't care whose brother he is.  Listen to this:  I heard that Renly Baratheon once pushed someone down.  I head he shot his pellet gun at Mrs. Johnson’s dog and that the pellet’s still in there.  Billy said Renly Baratheon cheats at marbles and only keeps the marbles he wins because he’s so big and mean.  This one time, Lana, this one time Renly Baratheon called me a “stoop” right in the middle of the lunch room and I ran out of the lunch room because I didn’t want Susie to see me crying.  Renly Bartheon is no good, and I heard that after he did all that stuff in third grade he dropped out and had to get his G.E.D. and now he just complains all day about the Council on Foreign Relations controlling the weather.  Can you really blame him, though?  (No.)

In closing, I just want to say I wish there was more laughter in the world and less black-on-black crime.  Fashion crime.  If you’re going to wear a lot of black, at least put on a white shirt for contrast!

Born With One Ball,

Gerald Terrence Jorgenson