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In one of our weekly papers, there is a column called "I, anonymous," where folks send letters in saying things they dare not in person. Past highlights have included (paraphrases) "Quit letching on me, your coffee server, you dirty old man," and "I hope you enjoyed my ravioli you stole from the fridge that contained garlic that had previously been in my girlfriend's yeastie cunt." I thought you might enjoy this week's:
Attention cock-stroking commuter: you did not see me, but I had the misfortune of seeing you. Doing what, you ask? Why, mercilessly flogging yourself at 1:00 in the afternoon on a Monday while driving your blue minivan. Granted, such a vehicle offers the security of elevation over other cars, but be a little mindful next time you're alongside a bus. With sheer disgust, I watched your unimpressive, oily member protruding through your pleated Dockers as you diligently stroked away. My horror gave way to curiosity: why not utilize a public restroom like regular perverts? Does whacking it in bumper-to-bumper traffic help you get yourself off? Or were you merely in a time cruch, attempting to multitask on the way to your next meeting? And what happens when you achieve your ejaculatory goal? Does the man-spunk get all over the steering wheel? The mind reels. Anyway, I hope your auto-erotic lunch hours don't lead to any ten-car pileups, as you'd be left in quite an embarassing state of disarray.
Attention cock-stroking commuter: you did not see me, but I had the misfortune of seeing you. Doing what, you ask? Why, mercilessly flogging yourself at 1:00 in the afternoon on a Monday while driving your blue minivan. Granted, such a vehicle offers the security of elevation over other cars, but be a little mindful next time you're alongside a bus. With sheer disgust, I watched your unimpressive, oily member protruding through your pleated Dockers as you diligently stroked away. My horror gave way to curiosity: why not utilize a public restroom like regular perverts? Does whacking it in bumper-to-bumper traffic help you get yourself off? Or were you merely in a time cruch, attempting to multitask on the way to your next meeting? And what happens when you achieve your ejaculatory goal? Does the man-spunk get all over the steering wheel? The mind reels. Anyway, I hope your auto-erotic lunch hours don't lead to any ten-car pileups, as you'd be left in quite an embarassing state of disarray.
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