An Open Letter to the Wenches at the Boston Herald

Dear Pirate Hooker & Cottage Legs,

I see you are hell bent on devoting your idle time to destroying my family. This nonsense you vomit forth reeks of a transparent attempt to get US Weekly to notice you. You say The Umlaut tells father to "stay cool" as if that means anything to her. This man has won three Superbowls and is considered the greatest clutch quarterback of all time. I dare say he does not need advice on staying cool from a 26 year old Brazilian mouth-breather whose main skills consist of walking deliberately and resisting genetic tendencies to steal wallets or kidnap people. But no, you hose-beasts made her appear a calming force for father. He could receive similar calm from a retarded beagle dryhumping his leg. Granted, she possess a sweet rack, but they still smell like DiCaprio's hands I bet.

The reasoning for father to have said nothing to this point is perfectly simple. They disagree on what kind of crown and robe I should have, and whether or not I shall have a scepter prior to my teenage years. As you will soon know, the moment I am born a new peace will wash over the world and flowers will bloom across lands both green and brown. Mother and Father are in a dispute over how to best control my effect on a planet that needs me.

The Inside Track Ladies on the Job.

So I hope that will clear things up for you, Street-Meat 1 and 2. Please go back to writing about John Malkovich sightings in Cambridge or plunging your head face first into the crotch of your current John.

Growth Note: My hair is more silken than the skin of the youngest geisha in Asia