Dear Crew,
Ok, here's the deal. My wife and I are in an open relationship, meaning we fux whoever we want whenever we want. So I ask this one broad (Autumn) that I hooked up with about 5 years ago and stayed friends ever since. I tell her the new situation and she pretty shocked. She tells me it sounds fun and we should set up a time to meet each other. I'm like, hell ya, it's on. Except, every time I suggest a date for her to come visit me, she can't make it, other plans? She's admittedly very flaky, whatever bitch, not good at returning text messages or e-mails, but whenever she does, she claims she's still interested even if it scares her a little. She's hot and pretty funny, but I'm thinking she's just over thinking the shit? Last text I sent her, said I'm available any night this month. She can come to SD or I'll drive up to Newport? Let me know what works? She responded by saying she's traveling this month, but mid April would work. Ok whatever, another stall tactic to me? If she wasn't down, I hope she could just say so, and I'll tag another friendly ho. Fuckin cunt muffin is getting me baked up. I want to bone that ass and I think she does too. I'm not sure what else to do, so here I am, asking you. Thanks dude. Say what you do.
Dear You,
As J-Wunder would say, “Wait.... what?” I have to ask that because I am trying to figure out what in the hot-mess, open marriage, hell you are going on about. You want me to seriously believe that you have an open marriage, but you are sweating some bitch who is giving you the Heisman, like it’s her job and she is picking up a pay check on Friday? I need a fucking drink before I can write my response. No, fuck that. I need to smoke some weed. And I don't even smoke weed anymore - so you know you are fucking with my brain waves, if you are making me want to do drugs. No, fuck that too. I obviously already shot up heroin and I am now hallucinating this question, because if you believe this clitty-cunt-slut is really and truly DTF, then I have some magic beans I would like to sell you, once I come down from the heroin I am on.
I am going to be so brutally honest right now that I am actually going to hurt my own feelings when I break this down for you. My man, you are classically and unequivocally strung the fuck out. Like Charlie Sheen on a 3 week coke binge, strung out. Either you are an idiot for the ages or this chick is A-Fucking-Mazing at the game. If you are not an idiot (and I am assuming that you aren't because you did come to us, with your somewhat romantical query) then I really want to meet this Autumn. I need to take a page from her book on the Hustle, 'cus that shit is going to be a best seller. It's going to be an Oprah Book of The Month or some shit. This trick has the ho-game down to a fucking art form. They need to hang her texts in the Louvre, next to the Mona Lisa - another bitch who had her ho-game on point.
You think she is over thinking this? My dear, sweet, dumb boy, you are so wrong. The only thing she is thinking is ho thoughts, 24/7. She spends her days trying formulate new ways to keep your dumb ass dick hanging on for just a leeeeeeeeeeeeeeetle bit longer. Sadly, it seems like she isn't even thinking OR trying that hard, you are just making it that easy. She has you wrapped, sprung and ready to jump when she says fucky-sucky and you keep playing into her ho-hand, like a teenage boy who has never gotten his dick sucked. You cast out with some, "you wanna ride my baloney-pony" and she says no, but reels you back in, with some "maybe later." Send me your address, so I can send you a shovel and you can dig what I am saying. If you haven’t caught the drift of my diatribe yet, you had best take your ass to Dear Abby, where she will use nice words like “Gentle Reader” and hold your hand through the answer. Not me, not now, not ever. I will say this real slow like, so you can let it roll around in your brain soup. You. Are. Getting. Played. Can we agree to this and move on so I can address the next thing that has been bugging the fuck out of me since I read your letter?
You have an open marriage. A literal hall pass to fuck, suck, stick, lick, belch, felch and do whatever nasty, dirty, lascivious things that you like to do with a fuck-buddy, all with your life-mate’s blessing. And you are sweating a bitch that we have already concluded is playing you? Color me fucking shocked here, but 2+2 is not equaling Jell-o. Either you are not the Cassanova you think you are or this Autumn chick’s downtown, cooter-brown shoots sparks when she get a case of the O-face. Between you and me, I am really hoping for pussy fireworks, because other than that there is no other reason why this blue-ball inducing dick-tease should be getting you all hot and not bothering with you. Especially because she is not even local talent. I used to live in Cali and I know Newport to San Diego is not a hop-skip. So if she is making you practically beg for it AND you are talking about traveling for the 'tang, then you and your little brain need to have a serious Come-to-Jesus about getting some local, attainable trim.
You need to go to the store, get some big boy underoos and man the fuck up, with the quickness. You are living the typical man’s dream and you are squandering it on some scratch that won’t even give you a sniff. How dare you be so selfish as to have the beauty that is an open marriage and then whine because some lady is talking the talk, but not walking the walk? Get the fuck out of here with that cock-nuggetry. No, seriously. Stop reading this. Go to a bar. Find some drunk, possibly roofied, (I am not condoning slipping them a roofie, but finding a girl that has already been roofied) hosebeast and blow her back out. Do it for all the men who have to fuck the same woman every night. Anger-bang some chick for all the Autmuns in the world, and do it right meow. But whatever you do, stop squandering your precious gift and start fucking.
Remind me to open hand slap you if I ever meet you. That is all.
I'm fucking fabulous bitch,
H-Bomb
