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Word. Ok, so look. The other day I was going through my
Grandpa's attic because we need to find enough evidence for a conviction
and I stumbled across this box. I opened it up and found something UNBELIEVEABLE.
"What did you find, SweetMonkeyCreek?", you ask momentarily
pausing from giving me a shoulder rub. Well, kiddies, I found some old
love letters from my Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather TiberiusMonkeyCreek.
He was a Civil War vet and I'm pretty sure he died at the ripe old age
of 31 from some sort of super-polio. The best part is, these letters date
back to during his Civil War days when he would fight for the North...but
I'm pretty sure he placed bets on the South to win. Seems like my GrandPappy
had a thing for the ladies too. Let's take a look at some of these letters!
Dear Carla,
Oh, how I hate this loathsome war, my dearest Carla. I long for the days
back on your plantation when we would frolic through the fields and throw
mice at plague-ridden homeless people. I can still see you in your bustle;
bosom heaving and thrusting. Damn, my dearest, you have a hindquarters
that refuses to quit. When this war ends, I'm going to come back home
to you and we will be wed and start the finest family this side of the
Lincolns. We need to knock that guy down a couple of pegs anyway. Think
of me my dear. Now I must go back to sawing gangrenous limbs off of people.
Humptastically Yours,
TiberiusMonkeyCreek
Isn't that sweet? Well, I thought it was until I read the next letter:
Dear Latoya,
Oh how I hate this loathsome war, my dearest Latoya. I just told that
bitch Carla that I shall never see her again and that, after the North
triumphs in this awful war, I will return to you and your sheep farm.
She's gone for good, Baby, and now your corset is the only one I will
clumisly paw at. Send me your love, my sweet Latoya, for that will be
enough to stop musket bullets from piercing my rib cage.
Forever Horny,
TiberiusMonkeyCreek
P.S. Send some body armor along with the love too.
For shame, GrandPappy. I don't know how to feel about this next letter:
Dear Trevor,
Oh my most handsome Trevor. When will this infernal war end so that I
may return to your beefy arms and be whisked away to your Maple Syrup
Ranch in Vermont. Soon we shall be free of oppression and I can wear my
pretty sun dress in absolute freedom. I clubbed a man to death with a
musket today and all I could think of was our magical rendezvous in your
father's outhouse where you would pump...
Annnnd, it gets pretty graphic after that. Now this last one is really
confusing:
Dear Butter Churn,
Oh my darling Butter Churn, how I long to see you in this hell that is
this war. If you were here by my side, your sturdy wooden handle would
guide me through the darkness that is my soul right now. When I return
to our Soft Pretzel Preserve in Pennsylvania, I shall make you my partner,
for I can't live in sin like this much longer. Our erotic unions shall
be smiled upon by God and we can live forever as man and Butter Churn.
I have kissed this letter for you, my love. Every time I get an infection
from my crotch splinters, I think of you.
Erotically Charged,
TiberiusMonkeyCreek
And to make things wierder, I found this!
Dear Tiberius,
Come back to me my love. My butter spoils without your skillful churning.
There is a spot in my soul that is filled only with loneliness...and some
butter. I wanted to tell you that I am with child and soon I will be bringing
your little wooden child into this world. Come home to your family safe,
Tiberius. The winters are cold and I fear I may become kindling. Fight
well, my love.
All hot and bothered,
Butter Churn
Well, this really leaves more question than it answers....but it does
explain why my Uncle Leroy keeps humping kitchen appliances...kinda. I
don't think the Smithsonian is gonna want these.
Back to Sir Joseph
Lyons, Esq's Essays
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