A Letter to the 107-year-old lady that’s looking for a 23rd husband

Dear, 107-year old Kuala Lumpurian lady that is looking for her 23^rd husband.

Hey, baby girl. How you doin’? You know, I couldn’t help but take notice of your situation. You now the one. The one where you are 107-years-old and you are looking to marry your 23^rd guy as soon as you divorce your 22^nd husband when he comes out of rehab? Yeah, that situation, baby. I’m all about that one.

I know the centennial dating scene in Kuala Lumpur is rough. Do you guys have Craigslist there? If you do, then I would suggest taking out an ad. Something like “Old, dusty broad looking for 23rd husband fuck,” or whatever you would type if you spoke broken English. You know, according to Wikipedia, Malaysian men are not known for their ability to sex for hours at a time. North American men, on the other hand, can just go and go until your prescription Paxil kicks in and you just kind of space out.

…

It seems the Wiki entry was just a joke because it was deleted by the editors. But it don’t matter none, baby. The sentiment is all the same. I will sex you until you complain of joint pain. At which point, I will rub your joints with Icy Hot until the oxygen in our bungalow is saturated with the scent of medicated menthol. Then, we’ll sex some more. This time the Icy Hot will act as a lubricant for our hot passionate love. And I literally mean “hot,” because the Icy Hot will make my balls feel like they’re on fire.

On Fire.

For you.

But look at me, getting all selfish with the love. I have to spread it all around, honey. You see, I got these homies that I work with. Their names are Adam and Ian. And, baby, they too are wild sex machines that are just aching for a good Malay. (You see what I did there, baby? I took the term for a Malaysian person (Malay), and used it as a euphemism for getting laid…as in sex…with you. Adam, Ian and I write comedy, and that little double entendre is but a sample of the laughs the 4 of us would share pre and post limb-tangled group sex).

Wikipedia tells me that Malaysians don’t believe in pictures because you think it steals your souls…

…

…okay, that one hasn’t been taken down yet, so I can assume that it is true. Which can’t be right. Anyhow, seeing as I will not want you to think that Adam, Ian and I are soulless for having sent you some pictures of us that can aid you in making your decision on whether or not to marry us, I will now go in to vivid detail as I describe the intricate and complex workings of our arousing physiques.

Adam has the beard of a slightly less homosexual lumberjack. His eyes are those of a man that will dominate your love regions with the power of a mighty army ready to carpet bomb your womb.

Ian has a vibrating penis. I’ll let you work out how awesome that can be. For you, I mean. I personally have never experienced it. I’ve heard it’s quite exhilarating. But, again, I’ve never tried it. Not that I would want to, though. I mean, ‘cause, you know, I’m not gay or nothing, but…you know…

…

I just want to make sure that you know that I don’t want Ian’s vibrating penis in me. We straight on that? Cool, because while I have thought about it, it’s just, like, not my thing…

…but what is my thing (nice segue, huh, baby?) is making sweet love to you as my glistening thy meat wraps around your head. Because I am sitting on your face. Naked. That’s my signature move, baby. I call it “The Love Muzzle.” Some other names that move goes by are “The Aroma of Love” and “I put my butthole on your lips.” Granted, that last one isn’t very original, but what are you going to do? I don’t come up with the names.

Well, that’s it, baby. I hope my words have convinced you to take our hands in marriage. In case you are wondering, other features we offer include Adam’s infinite knowledge of Kennedy Assassination dioramas, Ian’s knack for being able to make the most perfectest paper air plane ever, and my ability to read an entire book and not know what the fuck I just read. Yeah, I know. We got the goods.

Just one question, baby. Can we wear rubbers? Because you’re, like, really old and we don’t want no Benjamin Button babies or something.

Love,

The Funny Crave Writing Staff (Luis, Adam, and Ian)

P.S. – Are you rich?