Mr Lafond, thank you for sending me a copy of little feet, a quality tale indeed. I am currently half way through apocalisp and it is indeed gratifying to see that nearly two years down the line that your assessment of this event was bang on the money, an act of controlled demolition upon our freedoms, hopes of prosperity and our very humanity. As a former ghetto grocer, lifelong extreme pedestrian and Taboo man i have found your harmcity writings to be nothing short of fantastic and i tell no lie when i say that i consider you to be Americas greatest living writer.

[Bro, I am honored. I am doubly honored to be recognized as a literary giant by the only other retail food veteran besides myself and Joseph Bellofatto, to have read a book!]

I sincerely hope that the 22nd year of this wretched century brings you much in the way of good quality rum, fat ass strippers and well deserved literary success.

-Taboo Too

…

My host’s darling wife read this email and laughed, “You’re readers really know you.”

Indeed, I had another email much like this since, showing respect for my preference for big-assed babes and rum over beer and good clean fun.

In part I am laughing at myself, for remaining so capable in my dotage of being seduced by sweet young things of fertile shape—as if I have any business knocking up broads I can’t support. Then, last night I became a caricature of my lesser nature, when The Captain, His Wife, and Nige, the Captain of the Nigerian Cribbage Team [that would be me], were playing cards. The Wife had The Captain’s smartphone dialed into Christian music videos, set up so we could watch it. Then, I saw a video still of this glorious, perfect, female posterior in a bikini, gawked, and for a moment, recalling the lovely young thing Miss Wife invited over for cards the other night, thought that perhaps The Church was taking a turn in my direction. Then, the video progressed to a man with an enormous gut and said, “Do you have an obesity problem,” and I laughed, for the lovely rear end was being used as an advertisement for ladies intent on ass-shrinkage, which is a sin before Crom!

Okay, so here we go, I will be taking applications for slave girl, a traveling slave girl, capable of hauling my 60-pound ruck sack, and your own small purse, which will feature more than enough storage capacity for your entire wardrobe of string bikinis.

Baby, when its cold, you can wear my shirts and a long skirt…

I will defend you.

I will, ahem, attend you.

The medical package: I will bring you back to Baltimore annually to be examined by my personal doctor on the parking lot of the chain eatery of your choice.

I will introduce you to my family, who will take unending pity upon your condition and treat you like a cross between Queen Victoria and Little Orphan Annie as mom pleads with me, “She’s so sweet-please don’t break her heart!”

I will take you to Manny Soprano’s house in June, where you will decorate the pool deck for weeks on end.

I will bring you to Washington State, to this Christian Colony, where all of the church ladies will adopt you like a little sister and pray for your condition to improve.

If at any point, you decide to birth the next generation of crackpots, I will leave you at Mom’s or with the Church Ladies, with a psychopath gestating within you.

In addition, I will spend virtually all of my vast fortune feeding you, so that your assets might continue to increase.

Okay, this sounds so good that I suppose I should let you know if you are a candidate:

-You must be at least 16-years-old.

-If your waist line is half or less the girth of your butt, you don’t have to cook at all. I’ll buy carryout.

-Latinas, Rural Siberian babes, Eskimo auto-magazine cover girls, First Nation lookers and African maize farmers, are preferred. If you are white you must be able to speak a language I don’t understand to make me feel like a conqueror.

-You must be able to say James, Santiclawz, Jammy or MeYames, while smiling disingenously and winking—basically erasing all of my good judgment and effecting the opening my my wallet. This is actually a perk if you can pull it off.

-Verbal English diction at a first grade level is ideal, but not necessary.

-No pets, although if you like to carry a stuffed animal in public, I am totally alright with that.

-You will not be expected to defend yourself against men or black women—I will take care of that.

-You will be in charge of ordering my meals, flirting with my arresting officer so I can more easily stab him, and of slapping mouthy white bitches.

I think that’s it!

…

Thank you so much, Taboo Too for convincing me that it was high time I began practicing gender-based bondage of at least one lucky member of the fair sex.

James,

The lady in the video might not meet all your requirements, but she can certainly handle a 60 lb ruck.

And having an auxiliary who can use a projectile weapon is not to be sneezed at.

Don Quotays