Dear Pervert

Dear Automated Porn IM That Accosts Me Every Night,

We have never met, dear anonymous pervert in the wilds of cyberspace. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why this should be, as your wit, so artfully rendered in pink text, is dazzling. Clearly, I could benefit from your company. I have a surplus of intelligence and wit, you see, and my bank account, while hardly prodigious, is solvent. No doubt you, with your huge wang, Internet savvy, and promise to fuck my brains out, would remedy these three happenstances in short order.

Charming as your offer of illicit passion is, I must refuse. Indeed, I would rather violate the entire cucumber selection of the local supermarket than engage in sex with you. If I were in the mood for masochism, the pineapple bin would suffice. I have no desire to wind up at the health department with my girl parts suppurating, surrounded by people in the early stages of syphilis, Ebola, and scurvy.

I hope, dear pervert, that you will understand my reluctance in this matter and cram your pink text into the erogenous zone of your choice.

La Guera