Breakfast Club Love Letters
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A WORD OF EXPLANATION: At the Breakfast Club's workplace, we use a interoffice email system. And it has become Club policy that whenever a member (or other poor fool) is careless enough to leave himself or herself logged on and step away from the computer, that person is subject to being the unwitting sender of lusty (and often raunchy) emails to other members. Read on, and see if you don't understand the game...in the words of Tommy, one of the earliest victims, "Leaving yourself logged on here is the equivalent of leaving your girlfriend passed out drunk at a frat party."
NOTE: Some names have been obviously altered to protect the unaware.
THESE ARE NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART! READER BEWARE!!!
Blade,
I long for you to plunge your rock-hard toothpick o'flesh into my burning hemmorhoidal rectum. I need it so bad -- hurt me, bitch. Just hate-fuck me 'til I scream for a priest.
Thank you,
Tommy
Blade,
I need help holding Les down for a buttfuck. Get your gag, anal lube, and latex mask and we'll have a party in his poop-chute. Time to ram one up his ol' chocolate starfish.
Tiny Mike
Blade,
I need a fist-fucking. I've been plagued by loose bowels and need a plugging.
Thanks,
Tommy
Blade,
Me need schlong again. Me need good Tarzan-on-ape assfuck. Prod me monkeynuts.
Tiny Mike
To Ike, my funky, chunky chyron dunkie,
Baby, all you need is my pole. I want to cram you fuller than Liz Taylor at a Shoney's buffet. I want to coat your peaches-and-cream complexion with the fruits of your lip-labor.
Is that too much to ask?
Your Evening News Anchor
Tiny Mike,
I'm kind of new here, and still just getting to know everyone. Many of the people I've talked to tell me you're quite the talented one when it comes to cornholing. I've been told of your fetishes, and I happen to have a goat costume from a couple of Halloweens back. If I cut the butt out of it, will you bend me over the bathroom sink and pack me to the rim with your inadequate man-prod? Then, I though we'd switch places and I could shove cans of corned beef hash up your puckered little bunghole. Not those little lunchable ones, the economy size. Don't you think a few doses of 27-ounce aluminum love is just what you need?
Breathlessly yours,
Jay or John or whatever my name is
Blade,
My fuckin' hemmorhoids are flaring up again, man. Can you tongue-bathe them before plunging some anal lube up my shit-chute in a vain attempt at relief? Nothin' packs those puckered pain nodules back in like a crammin' from your magic wand.
Yer bitch,
Tommy
Ike,
As you know, one of our female reporters is leaving the city at the end of the month, and she's asked me for a special going-away gift. What would you say to a little menage-a-Ike with that foul-mouthed dock whore and myself? We'll need you to bring some zucchini, a Hickory Farms summer sausage, and a quart of 10-W-40 (preferably Quaker State). After we tie Jane Doe up and stuff slices of fruitcake up her ass, you can whip out your miniscule meat and attempt to have your way with me.
What do you say?,
Your Other Evening News Anchor
Tiny Mike,
I sure do enjoy gobbling your knob.
Ikey
Tiny Mike,
I want you to pummel my pee-pee with your luscious lips. When you're done, I'll stick my fist in your ass up to the elbow and walk around waving you in the air. We'll get you some sparklers to carry.
Sincerely,
Richard
TO: NEWSROOM
The past several months have been filled with speculation, gossip, and hearsay. In order to end the confusion, and hopefully allow us to move on with our lives, I'd like once and for all to clarify:
YES, MY PENIS IS WOEFULLY SMALL.
YES, I ENJOY ENGAGING IN SEXUAL ACTIVITY WITH ANIMALS.
YES, IKE AND I LIKE TO BLOW EACH OTHER.
If you have any further questions, feel free to see me. Thank you for your patience. I remain,
Hung like an elevator button,
Tiny Mike
Want to Read More?
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