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      Pen Pals - A Dispatch from the Inside

      January 12, 2012

      By Monroe

      From the column 'Pen Pals'

      Bert Burykill, our prison correspondent, who’s now out on parole, just got a letter from his buddy Monroe, who’s still inside. Here it is, unedited, along with a pic (click-click) he sent with the letter.

      Hey Bert (shouted in an Ernie voice)!

      Good looks for your letter last month. Happy to hear everything is bone-lovely and your calves are finally growing. I’m jealous of your diet and supplementation and, of course, all the mega-bone sessions with a real girl. A good bitch is hard to find. Thanks for the dough, the 63 Clif Bars, and the frozen shrimp—one of the best packages I’ve ever received in jail. And the SlutSlam 2011 mag really was the cherry on top. Macho sends love for the Latin Grannies—I don’t know how he beats meat to those wrinkled spunkbags. Our boy Corazon went to the box for stroking his shit in his cube and Miss L. [ed. – a correction officer] thought he was getting money to her and the porkchop patrol rolled up and beat his ass black and blue in front of half the dorm. Fucked up shit.

      No one believed you’d send shit to the crackers. We thought you’d forget about us like everyone else does, but you really looked out… I tell ya, I’ll let you lay one in my wife, Terry, if I get the chance. She may be fat, but her baby-maker purrs on your cock like a baby kitty cat with a meth habit, if ya follow what I’m sayin’. She swings lika horny chimp’s pair of maracas in a summer breeze and her butthole eats sausage for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Chicken chow mein? She may be morbidly obese, but my visit-room finger-pops make her queef and they smell like the most glorious cream cheese spread my lips have ever tasted. She tickled my gooch last weekend and then drooled on her fingers and fed me our combined gooch-drool. This bitch is the truth. She has a farm in upstate New York and she’s ready to settle down with a strapping young lad like myself who’s ready to cultivate her cunt paste and make urinal cakes for inmates. Bert, I have big ideas and I need your help.

      That 20 bucks you sent me to take click-click pics for your article went real deep. I bought an 8 mg Sub [ed. - Suboxone] with the 20 and flipped it for 100 and sniffed 50 so I still had 50 and I took click-clicks for 7.50 and still had 40 to send my chubby chick to come see me, and she brought her friend, Jenessa. This pig is even more rugged than my bitch and she makes money as an escort by being degraded, which is why she is into this whole inmate thing. What’s more degrading than dating an inmate? NOTHING!! I love butterball, gutter-butted bitches who ride with inmates… Anyhow, Jenessa is one of the human toilet breed, and she’s the type that begs to have sherms ashed in her eyes before being sodomized with a Cabbage Patch Kid’s thigh or some such other random device. She calls it gettin “Kadafied,” whatever that means.

      I tell you, I went under the table and put my hands up her skirt and I found the most rubbery chubby pig knuckle I’ve ever felt. My pud started blowin’ gunk right then and there. There’s fast money in this type of porky toe-suckin’, vomit-inducin’ porn-lifestlye livin’ hooker. Bert, I need you on my side to make the moneys with these pigs ‘til I get out next year. If you can give ‘em a ride here (they got no car) and supply ‘em with the orange [ed.- Suboxone] you’ll get a piece of some serious ass and more. I already told ‘em I’d pay for the motel room.

      This shit is bullshit in here. I can’t even shit without dreams of bein’ anally pleasured by some fat bitch’s fat tongue until I paste an act of god all over her hairy gunt [ed. - gut cunt]. The cops fucked up and let her wear open-toed sandals into the visit. Everyone was jealous I got to play with those toes for hours. I can’t get the sight of ‘em outta my head. Bert, my dude, with your help we’re goin’ to take these fat sluts to the top. We takin’ over, sloppin’ slobs all over, with balls bustin’ all over big busted bitches.

      Other than that, Christmas was aight. Sleazy Pete put some Lloyd’s baby back ribs in the microwave, and Simple, Macho, Beaver, and I ate ‘em up good. I smuggled some potatoes out the messhall, and instead of making hooch, I boiled up some salt potatoes for the boys. Who needs jailhouse hooch when we’re sniffin’ the orange glorious? My ma is with a lesbian lover on the farm and pa is off his rocker trying to bang broads younger than me, but he forgets he looks like a Jed Clampett with a jackhammer permanently rammin’ his can something awful. Think he has MS or some such shit, but his DSS money keeps the crack whores happy. He tells me there’s a lotta money to be made in Elmira. Fiends everywhere.

      So my girls are gonna get in contact with you. As you can see from the click-click she’s not much fun to look at, but just take my word that her willingness to do anything makes her a good bitch to have in the stable. Send some more shrimp and porn, and let’s work on getting the orange flowin’ so we can live large. Pun intended.

      Best Wishes,
      Monroe

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