It’s not very often you come across such a beautiful letter worthy of posting on a shit-can site such as Hot Lard. However, today is one of those lovely days. I bring to you this little gem:
To the girl who flashed me while I was driving – m4w
You were on the sidewalk with a gaggle of your friends and you were all rushing toward the curb. I hit my brakes, afraid that you were going to run into the street, but you flashed me instead.
Never before have I believed in love at first sight. They were shapely and round and oh-so-generously proportioned, with smooth creamy skin, and they were proudly standing up with the resilience of youth. I immediately began thinking of all the things I could do with your breasts — we could go for long walks together on misty mornings, have dinner in romantic restaurants, go for bike rides around the lake. I began to imagine a lifetime of waking up with your breasts in my face, continuing to love them as age and gravity inevitably take their toll.
I could write poems for your pom-poms, ditties for your titties. Eat your heart out Keats — who needs a Grecian urn when I’ve got a pair of ice cream sundaes with cherries on top?
I’m almost certainly too old for you, but I think I could still have a meaningful relationship with your boobs.
Who has had the lucky fortune of such an encounter? No, I don’t want to hear about how you forced some fattie with a mullet and a tattoo of skeleton eagle on her forehead on an Interstate 80 rest stop to flash her unsupported (bra-less) torpedoes for a can of beer.
I’ve yet to convince a dancer on stage to take her bra off for a $20 bill; that’s how ugly I am.