Dear Previous Tenants of the Address that Will Go Unnamed,
You can tell a lot about someone through their junk mail, like if they own an online sex toy company or not. I’m assuming your sex toy company blew up like a couple of blow-up dolls and that you moved on to bigger, better apartments. But I want to personally thank you for not changing your mailing address. Your junk mail has changed my life.
What started as a neighborly courtesy of holding your mail has turned into a relationship I now have with your subscriptions. I’ve collected all sorts of unconventional magazines and catalogs in the last six years - filled with perfectly oiled muscles, x-rated underpants and naughty novelties. You know what they say. One man’s junk mail is another man’s porn collection. I have sex mail exploding all over my apartment. No, I didn’t get my W2 but have you seen this giant dildo? Of course you have. You have twenty in your dishwasher right now.
Of all the mail I’ve received, the most memorable was a big, discreet, brown box the size of Kim Kardashian’s you-know-what. So I picked it up, carried it over the threshold and cooked it a nice dinner. Every day, I had dinner with your big box on my kitchen table. And every day that box would look me in the eye - seducing me, tempting me to open its flaps. But then I’d tell that box, “Don’t be such a box, box. You belong to someone else.”
Then one unsuspecting day, I did the unexpected. I ripped that box wide open and you won’t believe what I saw. It was a big box of dildos. Twelve dildos! Half were black and half were blue, like some dark, metaphorical riddle from a scorned lover. It felt wrong looking at them as they looked back up at me from their little dildo packaging, crying out for help. These dildos were super basic. There were no silly textures, no batteries included, and no rabbit ears like the kinds in the catalogs.
What’s a girl to do with twelve creepy dildos? Throw them a party, of course. No, not that kind of party. Just a regular kind of party where I pimp them out to my friends. Since you couldn’t make it, you’ll be happy to know my dog ate one, but the rest made for great party favors and continue to get plenty of action in a little game we call the Hidden Dildo. It’s a game we play where we hide them at each other’s houses. I’ve found them on my mantel, duct taped to the ceiling, up my butt. All kinds of places!
Needless to say, I’ve done more creative things with a dildo than even you have, Mr. and Mrs. Previous Tenant. And I have you to thank for it. You can rest assured knowing that eleven of your twelve missing dildos have served a purpose and are better dildos for it.
Warm appropriate wishes,
The Current Tenants of the Address That Will Go Unnamed
P.S. Please send a box of butt plugs at your earliest.