Dear Taylor:
Greetings from your old conference mates. So many developments have taken place since we last spoke, I feel compelled to discuss them with you and offer solace.
Look, honey, I realize you got this job and make a living off your enormous fake cans. Your spray on tan and bleached blonde hair accentuate said cans and make some of us covet that coconut suntan lotion smell often found in the finest gentleman's clubs and throughout the classiest of escort services. I also realize you've had more strange cocks in you than a Chernobyl henhouse. You have some large melons and for that, I commend you.
I often wonder what all you had to do with those melons to secure and keep that job. How many times have you gently caressed the top of Chip's barren skull as he motorboated his way through your mountains of flesh and silicone? How many times has Ketch hunkered down over you and squeezed one off right before a charlie horse made him crash down on your willing body? Has Chad Hastings ever lost his Aggie ring somewhere inside your deep confines?
I wanted to write to encourage you to go the extra mile. When Chip swings and whiffs at another headline, offer him more than you have before. He's really fallen on his ass this time with Notre Dame. Ketch still can't find a job. It's time for you to step to the forefront. Every time they whiff, pull out one of those knockers and slowly caress it. Your balloons can become their blimps. The time has come. Put an end to this nonsense. They stood behind you (and likely over, under and to the right and left of you as well). It's time to act.
Let's see those overbaked hams.
Thank you.
[This message has been edited by txjortsagent (edited 9/12/2012 2:01p).]
Greetings from your old conference mates. So many developments have taken place since we last spoke, I feel compelled to discuss them with you and offer solace.
Look, honey, I realize you got this job and make a living off your enormous fake cans. Your spray on tan and bleached blonde hair accentuate said cans and make some of us covet that coconut suntan lotion smell often found in the finest gentleman's clubs and throughout the classiest of escort services. I also realize you've had more strange cocks in you than a Chernobyl henhouse. You have some large melons and for that, I commend you.
I often wonder what all you had to do with those melons to secure and keep that job. How many times have you gently caressed the top of Chip's barren skull as he motorboated his way through your mountains of flesh and silicone? How many times has Ketch hunkered down over you and squeezed one off right before a charlie horse made him crash down on your willing body? Has Chad Hastings ever lost his Aggie ring somewhere inside your deep confines?
I wanted to write to encourage you to go the extra mile. When Chip swings and whiffs at another headline, offer him more than you have before. He's really fallen on his ass this time with Notre Dame. Ketch still can't find a job. It's time for you to step to the forefront. Every time they whiff, pull out one of those knockers and slowly caress it. Your balloons can become their blimps. The time has come. Put an end to this nonsense. They stood behind you (and likely over, under and to the right and left of you as well). It's time to act.
Let's see those overbaked hams.
Thank you.
[This message has been edited by txjortsagent (edited 9/12/2012 2:01p).]
Rodolfo Gonzalez /American-Statesman
