Dear The Niner,

Today I decided that I look like a man. My face is all shaded and hangy like it is made up of wide U’s. It is a scalloped face. Scalloped like the gingerbread shingles on the Hansel and Gretel house. I have a fivehead and also, my blank expression is punchable. This, my friends, is why I never look in mirrors.

The ghetto superstore had no crumbled goat cheese or fresh tarragon. Can you believe that shit?
Hey Bluesmith, remember when you asked what I had eaten for lunch and I told you Broccoli Salad and you made some jokes about California food and whatnot? Well, I still have that broccoli salad in my refrigerator and I know that when I open the Tupperware container to throw it away it will have a smell akin to the pig sty that was next door that used to infect our house when the wind blew just right and we had our windows open. I kinda can’t wait to throw it away. I like smelling my belly button cheese when I find it. Also, there is something magical in the smell on your fingers after moving your earrings around at the hole they’ve been stuck in forever.

But enough about that sort of thing. I wanted to tell you guys that when I see that one of the 369 Crew has updated The Nine, I get all excited in my belly. Like, I can’t wait to click on it and read it. I seriously do. I get all giddy like a fucking prom queen before she knows she will be prom queen. I do. That’s what you two mean to me. Except when you post videos from youtube. Then I’m all, fuck, Shannon Griswold made prom queen and not me. And then I sort of end up tripping a little when I walk down from the stage. So, yeah, Im just keeping it real, aight.

Otto’s mouth is broken. His tongue is also broken, but bent and swollen, not busted out like his mouth is. His tongue sits inside his broken mouth like, what? His throat can coach them back to health but it won’t. It knows better. It’s been here before. His throat just sits back cuz it can, all internal and shit. Otto’s stomach is like, don’t do it throat, he’s not ready. Otto’s intestines are all, that bitch can’t make you say anything you don’t want to. The turds inside Otto’s intestines are all, fuck yeah! You are a man’s man! We are huge turds! A huge turd makin’ man don’t say all that fucked up flowery shit! Keep shut the fuck up! And Otto’s dick is all quiet but when the turds lose their steam and their rant turns to a rumble he whispers, It’s okay man. If you feel like sayin’ it. I’m with you. To the end. I got you, man. I got you.

Oh Comely,