E-mail Made Easy. I Do the Work. You Get The Credit.

Dear (Muffy, John, Mr. Gates, friend ),

I'm very sorry that ( I called you a hairy orangutan, I have to tell you this, you're the biggest geek on the face of the earth, I haven't written in a long time ). I ran off ( a list of reasons why that was offensive to orangutans everywhere, with Antonio the cabana boy, a copy of my butt on the photocopier that looks like your face, the road when I spilled hot coffee in my lap and have been recovering ). I want you to know that I love ( the way your knuckles scrape the ground when you walk, the way he stirs my daiquiri with no hands, to see your wimpy, little ass hauled into court and raked over the coals for your attempts at world domination, that trick you do with the midget and the baton ). I think you ( are beginning to smell like the zoo that you must have broken out of, are obligated to know that it's not just because he can give me an orgasm, can insert your Windows 98 in your own floppy disk if you know what I mean, ought to take a break from the cyber sex because your keyboard is getting sticky). I heard that you ( have taken the term "swinging singles" to a new level-literally, moved back in with your mother, hire someone to perform your manly duties for you, haven't shaved, showered or changed your clothes in weeks ). Do you know that there are ( bunches of bananas with your name on them, people who can help you stop yelling her name during sex, corpses with more personality than you have, birds nesting in your armpit hair )? It looks like your ( resemblance to a largely herbivorous arboreal anthropoid ape that is two-thirds the size of a gorilla and has extremely, long arms comes from your mama, engagement ring can now be pawned for a case of beer, money can't buy you any friends, belly button is starting to grow mold in it ). I wish you would ( stop jumping up and down while screeching at the top of your lungs, not be bitter and provide a reference so Antonio can get his green card, receive a massive electric shock to your testicles every time my computer crashes, take out the trash before the flies get sick and do it themselves ). Well, I guess I should ( go tell the zookeeper where you are, apply more suntan lotion to Antonio, call tech support-something's due to go awry again, log off before you realize that I'm on-line ).

Love,

( Insert name here. )