Dear Skunky -- XXI

At the beginning of 2008, I decided to become a kinder, gentler, Skunk. If Dear Abby could be helpful all those years, Dear Skunky might be well-timed to step in and take up the 'compassionate advice' slack.

Twenty times in '08, Dear Skunky answered the call. And I can say, without hesitation or reservation, that Dear Skunky was perfect, helping absolutely no one.

That's why you hadn't seen any further additions to Dear Skunky in 2009. Until now.

In view of the new 'tudes of hope and change, of changing vocabularies and talking to our enemies instead of shooting the deserving bast...them, I thought I should give another chance to a kinder, gentler Dear Skunky. And here's the very letter that gives me another change at hope and change of redemption: from a Mrs. Grace Tapia, under the telling title of I NEED HELP NOW!!!

Witness her urgent plea in her own words:

Dearest in Christ, with due respect and humlity, I was compelt to write to you under a humanitaran ground. My name is Mrs Grace Tapia, from Kuwait. I am married to late Dr. Ramsey Tapia , who worked with an oil company in Ivory Coast for thirty two years before he died in 2005. He die of brief illness that lasted for only four days We were marryd 11 years without a child. Before his death we were both born again Christian. Since his death I decided not to remarry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is against. When my late husband was a lie (freudian slip?) he deposit sum of US $5.8 million dollar in a General Trust Acount with a prime bank in Abidjan . Presently this money is still the bank.

Recnety, My Doctor told me that I would not last for the next six moths due to my health problem I have cancer of the lever (okay, I've taken all I can up to here...cancer of the LEVER? LMAO...snort, chortle, guffaw, ROFLMAO...stop it, stop it...) Presenty the money is still in bank having known my contidtion I am in need of HONEST hearted indivial Christian or Church that i will utilize this fund the way I now instruct here. I want somebody who will use this fund acording to the desire of my wish to help lessprivlaged people, orphanages, widows and propagrating the word of God.

I took this decide because I dont have any child to heret this fund and i dont want in a way where this money will be used in ungody way. this is why i am writing to you to hand over this Fund. i am not afraid of deth hence i know where I am going (hint: you won't need cold weather clothing, Missy...). I want you to always rembemr me in your daily payers because of my condition.

Wite back to me soonest so not a delay to me is happen in case you are not the one i will need to handle my affars when I died. with God all things are possible and soonest as you reply i shall give you the contarct of the Bank in Abidjan and all authorisatons to prove you as benefitary of funds. God bless as we work to serve him.

Okay. So, my anonymous emailer of a few postings back, I'm sure, will be watching as I try to get Dear Skunky XXI right, and dole out kind, caring, compassionate advice and moral support to Mrs. Grace Tapioca.

You may decide how effectively Dear Skunky meets the risen bar of performance:

Email Title: Jesus H. Christ!!!

My poor dear Mrs. Tapioca,

As I read your missive, it becomes clear that you'll soon be under the ground, regardless of it's humanitarianism. But I digress.

Ma'am, this is terrible: married eleven years without a child? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this one out, Ma'am. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, but I must tell you...you killed your husband. Let me explain this.

You killed him with Terminal Sexual Satisfaction Denial Syndrome. Nothing else kills someone in four days faster, than to finally give into desperate hand machinations, but that's for another time.

But worse, Ma'am, is that in so killing your husband, you also did yourself in. How? By allowing for a condition known as Terminal Vaginal Satisfaction Denial Syndrome, which has been clinically proven to cause cancer of the lever, among other things. In short, you're being eaten from the crotch out through self-neglect.

Sucks to be you, I must say.

What further proves your complicity in this sad end, is the fact that your husband -- a Kuwaiti in the oil industry -- only managed to set aside $5.8 million USD in thirty two years. That's the equivalent of a welfare recipient here, eating McDonalds and growing larger than the couch while watching Oprah and calling 911 when they run out of McNuggets. I have little doubt that his disease -- that YOU are responsible for -- caused him to lose critical focus and not become a breadwinner of more sustenance. For shame, Ma'am.

You are right about one thing: with God, almost all things are possible. But not once your crotch has collapsed into your anus. That's one that God can't touch. Can't say as I blame Him, either, but I digress.

My advice to you, Ma'am, is to ask for extra doses of morphine. It won't prevent you from spraying piss like a fire system sprinkler head, what with your crotch and anus now one, but it will ease some of the burning and itching that accompanies such conditions.

Sincerely,

Dear Skunky

On second thought...make that 21 tries to be a kinder, gentler Skunk, and an 0-21 in the compassion department.