STYLETHREAD -- LET'S TALK SHOP!

"Dear Ben and Girl:

[Photo courtesy of Lime-light.org.]

I am writing a note from my very important tour of venues that don't make me sing more than three songs, which Marc says is my limit, because I am filled with glee. Because, aha, lookit here! You will be shocked to learn that, even if you have the Bennifer II, it is I who has the Electric Boogaloo! The flatness of my abs makes fireworks ejaculate! Good luck getting your stretch marks to have that effect on Ben, girlie!

Oh, and have fun wearing caftans, while I am in daring gold lame harness-looking-thingies that I had George Lucas make me so that I would look like a lounge singer in that alien bar from Episode IV: Jedi From The Block, or whatever that thing was that the kids love. Hip! I am hip. I tried to sew cinnamon rolls onto my head for the costume, but they made Marc cry and go binge on peas. Sometimes I don't understand him, but then I realize that's because he is choking on something and I have to Heimlich some embalming fluid out of his chest. I don't know how that keeps getting in there! But that has nothing to do with you and your stupid bloated uterus, nor my super hot capri pants with a big X that marks exactly where you can BITE me, Special Agent Sydney Crisco! Ha ha ha!

Now shut up and let me stop writing. It's time for me to stop doing my Nutcracker ballet -- wait, why does that always make Marc giggle? Ben Assfleck, why does Marc always say how appropriate that is? Ben?

Bah. Anyway, twirly time is over. It's time for the robot:

Or as my Marc calls it, "Foreplay."

Piss and Vinegar,
The One Whose Ring Was Bigger And Don't You Forget It, Ass Ape!"