The sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate

Posts tagged “love letters

Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twenty-Two

It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

This week’s love letter one wrong was written by a blogger who commented on the THINGS YOU CAN’T UNSEE post. Check out this post and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.

***************

Dearest Ruth,

I loved seeing you again last Thursday. It was hard waiting to see you, but you are a busy lady. And then, when we were together, it was really hard to talk to you. I know you asked me questions, but I found it difficult to get the words out. I’m not like that all the time. Anyway, I couldn’t help but stare at you the entire time, and I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime outside of work.

I loved staring at your face. I love that you let me. I love everything about it, from the lower lashes, to the slight jowling, to the 47 nose hairs – I feel like I had time to know you, thanks to your patience. You are amazing!

I hope you will accept, because I have this great idea to get some caramel fondue and Oreo cookies at this dessert shop I found. And you already know I’ll have clean teeth and a good smile!

Love ya,

Dean

Advertisements

My Secret Admirer – Twenty-One

It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did have a winner, so click the trophy to the right for this week’s winning blogger.

Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

*****************

Maybe it was your name, and how Heellis reminded me of the high heels I fantasized you wearing, or maybe it was the way you smelled as you walked past me, not seeing me hiding behind the flower pot. Whatever it was, I am in love and I want you, even for a minute. I have this ring that it stole from my dead grandmother and I want you to have it, I want you to wear it, forever.

I know you love another, but that can change, anything can change if we want it to. Forget him, I am better, stronger, faster. I am the Bionic man, I am Superman, I am Spider man, I can be your hero if you let me.

As I sit in front of my computer, looking at porn, I think of you and I think of us, and how wonderful it would be if you said yes to a date. Just a date you say, but for me it would be the world. So what if I am 53 and never had a date. I watch movies, I know how to act, even if they don’t believe me. They who work here, and watch me and give me the medications it takes to help me deal with my insanity.

For you I would do anything. For you I would trade this straight jacket for a tuxedo and sweep you off your heels and …I love heels…I am getting sidetracked again, it is like that when the voices in your head talk constantly now where was I? Sweep you off your feet and into my arms.

So what do you say? Do you want to date? Let me know, or better still, let the guards in my cell know that you want to date.

Yours truly,

Sam

***************

Sam,

How touching it is that you care so much. I can tell you are devoted and loyal, and believe me, you will be rewarded. I think it is quite appropriate and fitting that you watch movies, especially porn, which by now should have exposed you to what you will be in for.

By way of a taste of our time together, let me say that while I find the offer of your grandmother’s ring touching, the only ring I will accept from you is the one I want binding your collar closed. Until we are together, please imagine what I have planned, beginning with me oh-so-gently slipping the ball gag into your devoted mouth, cinching it tight, and then whispering in your ear:

“NOW LICK MY FUCKING STILETTOS CLEAN, YOU NASTY LITTLE MAGGOT BITCH!”

I assume you have no aversions to whips given your situation.

Always,

H.e. ELLis

CLICK THE HEART BELOW FOR THIS WEEK’S SECRET ADMIRER:

***

***

***


Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twenty-One

It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

This week’s love letter one wrong was written by a blogger who commented on the TOP TEN SPaM post. Check out this post and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.

**********************

Maybe it was your name, and how Heellis reminded me of the high heels I fantasized you wearing, or maybe it was the way you smelled as you walked past me, not seeing me hiding behind the flower pot. Whatever it was, I am in love and I want you, even for a minute. I have this ring that it stole from my dead grandmother and I want you to have it, I want you to wear it, forever.

I know you love another, but that can change, anything can change if we want it to. Forget him, I am better, stronger, faster. I am the Bionic man, I am Superman, I am Spider man, I can be your hero if you let me.

As I sit in front of my computer, looking at porn, I think of you and I think of us, and how wonderful it would be if you said yes to a date. Just a date you say, but for me it would be the world. So what if I am 53 and never had a date. I watch movies, I know how to act, even if they don’t believe me. They who work here, and watch me and give me the medications it takes to help me deal with my insanity.

For you I would do anything. For you I would trade this straight jacket for a tuxedo and sweep you off your heels and …I love heels…I am getting sidetracked again, it is like that when the voices in your head talk constantly now where was I? Sweep you off your feet and into my arms.

So what do you say? Do you want to date? Let me know, or better still, let the guards in my cell know that you want to date.

Yours truly,

Sam


My Secret Admirer – Twenty

It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did not have a winner, so click the trophy to the right for a timely post from Edward Hotspur.

Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

***************

Dear Heloise Ecclesiastes Ellis,

 

I remember the first time I laid eyes on you.  I was in kindergarten.  You wore a blue dress and smelled of huckleberry (I distinctly remember it as huckleberry because even back then I was looking stuff up on Wikipedia).  I moved in closer to admire you as you finger-painted fiery orange and red and black with a yellow stripe running down the middle of the artpaper.  I touched the gauzy film of your petticoat and you punched me in the face, shattering my nose in thirty-two places. It was only later that I realized what a gift that was, as my new proboscis bears an uncanny resemblance to Edward Hotspur’s penis.

 

As we grew older in the small town of Valentine (I’ve always wanted to give you one—a small town, not a Valentine), I realized that even though I could sing and dance, I wasn’t gay enough to keep from wanting you, even after I figured out that you are a woman—a small woman with big breasts and all the energy of a Red Bull factory wired by Nikola Tesla while Benjamin Franklin flies a kite on top of the building with a key attached to the string with a 12 gauge copper wire attached to the key so that when the whole thing electrifies from lightening, it is conducted back to the factory, which is you I think, though I got kind of lost when I started talking about wiring, as I’m not an electrician.

 

As the years flew by and you became more stacked and stacked tire after tire after tire in that random field by the pond (I worked at the Goodyear Plant and would dump them there just to give you something to do), I began to realize that you would never love me, not like you love Prince Charming and Junior.  And I knew that the shit I say would never be as meaningful as the shit your kids say, but I would yell “Shit, shit, shit?” as I hauled tires back and forth, and you would post pictures of snowy trees on your blog and I knew you saw me in every frozen leaf, especially the ones where I actually glued my picture to the leaf,  with Edward’s Penis above my lips, those lips screaming out from every gluey leaf, screaming, “Love me, Love me, Love me!”

 

I know you think needy men are pussies, but it isn’t so much need as the desire of several teenage boys wrapped together like a duct-taped suitcase filled with the masculine love of an older, unneedy salt and pepper gentleman with a moustache (moustache rides are free by the way).

 

And then, one day, I was up on the roof with a couple of tires I’d hauled up there (I thought that would be a new challenge since you’re getting tired of the Thunderdome) and you said in that husky voice of yours:

 

“Hey, Asshole.  I’ve got a gun and I’m going to blow you a new one!”

 

And when that bullet went through me I knew in my heart (the bullet was actually in my heart with all the other feelings) that you really did care.  You really did.  No one shoots someone unless they really care about them, or they just wish they had a penis like Edward Hotspur’s and they’re frustrated.

 

You’re the former, not the latter.  So I climbed down the ladder, my former self wondering why I was bleeding so profusely, and you met me at the window, the same one you like to lick so much, and before I passed out, I swear we had something real between us.

 

It was a tire.

 

Love   XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

****************

Dear XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX,

I cannot begin to tell you how surprised I was to receive your letter! In fact, I came as soon as I heard the postman ring my doorbell. Sorry this took so long to respond, but the postman came to my backdoor instead.

At first I thought it was my weekly delivery of tube steak or my monthly bottle of trouser snake repellent or the latest issue of Beaver Buster catalog. You can imagine my surprise to find my postman, John Thomas, standing at attention on my doorstep holding your letter in one hand and my package in the other (my dog Bukkaki got a bone or two in the mail that day).

I want you to know that I read your letter over and over while I watched West Point’s Black Knights play the Midshipmen- after I adjusted my antenna, of course. There’s nothing better in the world to me than the feeling of beating Navy. Well, maybe Magic  Johnson with ball in his hand. Not to blow my own horn, but I was a bit of ball-handler myself back in the day.

I’d love to stay and chat, but I promised Rosy Palm and her five sisters that I’d help them polish the family jewels.

Signed,

Edward Hotspur’s Penis

 

 

CLICK THE HEART BELOW FOR THIS WEEK’S SECRET ADMIRER:

***

***

***


Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twenty

It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.

This week’s love letter one wrong was written by a one of my Blogs With Books authors. Check out this page and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.

 

**************

 

Dear Heloise Ecclesiastes Ellis,

 

I remember the first time I laid eyes on you.  I was in kindergarten.  You wore a blue dress and smelled of huckleberry (I distinctly remember it as huckleberry because even back then I was looking stuff up on Wikipedia).  I moved in closer to admire you as you finger-painted fiery orange and red and black with a yellow stripe running down the middle of the artpaper.  I touched the gauzy film of your petticoat and you punched me in the face, shattering my nose in thirty-two places. It was only later that I realized what a gift that was, as my new proboscis bears an uncanny resemblance to Edward Hotspur’s penis.

 

As we grew older in the small town of Valentine (I’ve always wanted to give you one—a small town, not a Valentine), I realized that even though I could sing and dance, I wasn’t gay enough to keep from wanting you, even after I figured out that you are a woman—a small woman with big breasts and all the energy of a Red Bull factory wired by Nikola Tesla while Benjamin Franklin flies a kite on top of the building with a key attached to the string with a 12 gauge copper wire attached to the key so that when the whole thing electrifies from lightening, it is conducted back to the factory, which is you I think, though I got kind of lost when I started talking about wiring, as I’m not an electrician.

 

As the years flew by and you became more stacked and stacked tire after tire after tire in that random field by the pond (I worked at the Goodyear Plant and would dump them there just to give you something to do), I began to realize that you would never love me, not like you love Prince Charming and Junior.  And I knew that the shit I say would never be as meaningful as the shit your kids say, but I would yell “Shit, shit, shit?” as I hauled tires back and forth, and you would post pictures of snowy trees on your blog and I knew you saw me in every frozen leaf, especially the ones where I actually glued my picture to the leaf,  with Edward’s Penis above my lips, those lips screaming out from every gluey leaf, screaming, “Love me, Love me, Love me!”

 

I know you think needy men are pussies, but it isn’t so much need as the desire of several teenage boys wrapped together like a duct-taped suitcase filled with the masculine love of an older, unneedy salt and pepper gentleman with a moustache (moustache rides are free by the way).

 

And then, one day, I was up on the roof with a couple of tires I’d hauled up there (I thought that would be a new challenge since you’re getting tired of the Thunderdome) and you said in that husky voice of yours:

 

“Hey, Asshole.  I’ve got a gun and I’m going to blow you a new one!”

 

And when that bullet went through me I knew in my heart (the bullet was actually in my heart with all the other feelings) that you really did care.  You really did.  No one shoots someone unless they really care about them, or they just wish they had a penis like Edward Hotspur’s and they’re frustrated.

 

You’re the former, not the latter.  So I climbed down the ladder, my former self wondering why I was bleeding so profusely, and you met me at the window, the same one you like to lick so much, and before I passed out, I swear we had something real between us.

 

It was a tire.

 

Love   XXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Sidecar SPaM

*** I AM STILL BEING HELD CAPTIVE BY NINJAS- SO THIS WEEK’S SPAM IS A REBLOG OF OUR GOOD FRIEND AND PLAYER RONNIE FROM THE LIBRA CHRONICLES ***

Take one part modern-day bachelor, two parts savvy player, add a splash of Cointreau and you get THE LIBRA CHRONICLES; an unapologetic blog that asks the question, “Can a blog really make it when the writer does not try to make a blog that targets special key words, certain audiences, weight loss or fitness or celebrities or some certain NICHE?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question when I first stumbled onto Ronnie Libra’s blog, but all it took was one look at his tag cloud filled with words like SEDUCTION, KEY WEST and POLYSOMNOGRAPHY to know that I wouldn’t be bored finding out.

*** So Ronnie, you describe your blog in your WHAT IS ALL THIS INSOLENCE page as an “experiment” in finding your target audience without the use of buzz words. Has your experiment revealed the results of who your target audience is?

I bet, like my mind, my target will be “Kid in a Candy Shop.”  Or more appropriately, “Ronnie in a Bar.”  So many flavors, why just settle for the same one all the time?  

*** In your page THE SEDUCTION CHRONICLES you include stories that you describe as including the “rawness and reality” of seduction. What motivated you to include these stories?

Hundreds of posts on private seduction forums.  People who’ve read them always tell me they are very inspirational, so I figured, what the fuck…. I may as well share them with more people.  If I can reach out to that one person who get’s inspired then kick ass!  I have done my duty. 

*** In addition to dating advice you have posts that focus on philosophy and inspiration. What has inspired you recently that you’d like readers to take away from your blog?

Momentum…  Keep doing what you love… Make it happen.  Fuck failure and fuck the outcome.  Go for it anyway.  Even if you are failing, keep going because the more steps you take towards your goals the better your momentum will be to take those steps. Be cool with failing, dammit. ;)  Penicillin was a mistake. OOOOHhhhh and some kick ass music, Music is my life.  I recharge off of it.  I have a giant history in my mind of music I love and I feel that, most of my life, every day can have a theme song.   

*** Many of your posts include sometimes graphic descriptions of many of your sexual escapades. Do you find it difficult to share these experiences with your readers? And what do you hope you can pass on in the way of knowledge?

Not difficult at all.  If you read the book, “My Secret Garden” by Nancy Friday, which is a book on REAL women’s fantasies, my reports become rated PG.  😉  I’m trying to convey the process of Seduction with my writing.  Later, I may delve more into the actual sexuality and passion as well, I’m sure I will.

Here’s what I want.  I want people to be cool with seduction.  It’s not some taboo shit.  It’s everyday reality.  It’s happening all around us.  The girl that I just looked at, while thinking, that made eye contact and looked away.  It’s natural.

I want that guy or that girl who sees that sexy motherfucker they want to meet to go do it.  Go meet that person!

*** What would you like men to take away from your blog?

I haven’t really thought about this.  Maybe inspiration.  Maybe to get a little mad or inspired inside and say, “If this asshole can do this so can I!” ;)

*** What would you like women to take away from your blog?

Women readers seem to be the main readers so far in my blog.  I would almost want to ask them, “What do you hope to find here?  or Why are you coming back? or even, “Let’s say my blog was your dirty little secret that no one would ever find out about.  What would you want it to be like?”

*** What can we expect from THE LIBRA CHRONICLES in the future?

Utter Sexy Randomness.  Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry and sometimes Chicken Fried Rice.  Ya, it doesn’t have to make sense.  And music.  Lots and lots of music.

Follow Ronnie at THE LIBRA CHRONICLES

Have a blog, book or music to promote? Contact me for your own feature on SPaM at heellisgoa@gmail.com