Konvicts' korner

Nothing brightens a gal's day like getting a letter postmarked from prison! The overwhelming majority of the mail I get is of the e-variety, but once in a while I get a missive delivered the traditional way—via the U.S. Postal Service. So every couple months, the lovely Miss Jenn bundles up whatever correspondence is clogging up my box and sends it along. For a reason I can't fathom, most of the people who actually put pen to paper and make the 34-cent investment reside behind bars.

And an impatient lot they are! Because my snail mail only gets sent over every month or two, I'll often find several letters from the same con in one package—each one more pissed off than the last because I haven't deigned to respond in a timely fashion. Here's an example—a fellow named Troy sent me a lovely greeting card and heavily illustrated three-page letter for my birthday. Here are some excerpts:

Happy B-Day girl! Tight-huggs, warm-wet kisses, no STD's. Can you sit on the Xerox for me, Judy? I wish you continued success in the coming year. . . . It's funny how women always seem to think there is a "jerk-free" guy out there waiting for her with flowers. . . . Maybe you should just bend over and fart then we can both laugh and giggle about something! Judy, you probably have had your share of bad boys, drunks, druggies, bitch-slappers, etc, so how do you not see one coming? My life is most likely never going to cross paths with yours, but if it did, I'm sure if you bent over and grunted in front of me you would get the desired effect! I love pizza, pussy, and precious moments with people who know not to take life too serious.

Dear Peter Prisoner,

I, too, love pizza, pussy, and precious moments! Unfortunately I will not be able to oblige you with a xerox dupe of my ass, as my copier seems to be on the blink. So instead I'm going to run the highly realistic drawing of my butt that you so thoughtfully rendered!

He's sweet, right? OK, not really, but at least the tone was pleasant! As I dug further into my mailbag, I noticed another letter from the same fella postmarked two months later. Hoping this one would also include a pen-and-highlighter rendering of my nether regions, I ripped it open with gusto. But alas, it was not to be! This is what I found instead:

Dear Dateslut [Hey! That's not my name!],

In response to your 7/19/2001 column I would like to say that the only metal you need in your mouth is a case-hardened steel deadbolt cock to stifle the perpetual ooze of psychobabble that falls out of the front of your face. Your lust for a teenager was revealed in a roundabout way [huh?]. I think if you actually spent more time dating than watching "Dateline" you might be in a better position to advise some insecure nice guy with a mouthful of metal. Hell you might even meet a brain surgeon and get that lobotomy you so desperately need.

Well, somebody's got their hair net in a twist! Admittedly, the case-hardened steel deadbolt cock got me to thinking, but c'mon, be nice!

Another one of my serial writers has sent everything from a drawing of a Ninja Turtle to a series of veiled threats and not-so-veiled insults. But this curious note has me stumped:

Dear Dategirl,

It has come to my attention that your cold mouth could do for me a service. I receive the paper of which your column has appeared with enjoyment. The service you could do for me is such that it has many subcategories, some of which fall into questions. . . why does homosexuality associate itself with fighting and do you think girls get turned on by watching? Thanks for your time.

Huh?

At your service—write Dategirl at dategirl@seattleweekly.com or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

 
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