Letters To Friends

Letters To Friends

Dear Mrs. Heely

We’ve located your husband James. We have a few concerns we’d like to address.

James was brought into the hospital on June 1st at 5:30pm. Way to early to be that fucked up. He was so drunk that he had shit not only his pants, but his shirt as well.

He was missing all of his fingers except for 1, which he kept referring to as “the king of the G spot, baby”.

At first he refused medical attention, telling the female nurses that “this happens all the time. I just need to get my dick sucked and I’ll be on my way”.

James put himself unconscious by holding his breath for 2 minutes trying to prove to me that he didn’t need air because his body was “American, and it ran on Dunkin”.

After 13 hours of surgery, we were able to stitch all his fingers back onto his hand. Shortly after that, James had eaten a few of his fingers claiming that he thought they were BK chicken fries.

After several more surgeries over the next 2 weeks, James’s hands were finally put back together, but obviously they look fucked up.

We released James from the hospital on June 12th, but the janitorial staff found him 3 weeks later living in the air vents with a family of field mice that he had purchased from the pet-co next door.

James wouldn’t leave the vents claiming that, “This happens all the time. I just need to get my dick sucked and I’ll be on my way.”

James is currently in the waiting room of the pediatrics center pretending to be 8 years old. We knew immediately he wasn’t 8 years old. 8 year olds aren’t that tall.

Please come remove your husband from this hospital at once. We would like nothing to do with him, and you can take that to the bank.

Sincerely,

Dr. Golf Club
90210 Beverly Hills, CA