A Letter From A Governess Scorned Dearest Benjamin, After tending to the fruits of your loin for five years (and your loin for three), you have quite a bit of nerve to tell me to “go key my own kite.” As this marks the end of our lustful bliss, I have something I would like to get off of my rather busty chest. I may have called you “Big Ben,” but your lightning rod did anything but make sparks. Though I walk away from this with a broken heart, you walk away with something a little more difficult to get rid of: syphilis. Sincerely, Virginia Cherryblossom
A Complaint From a Cuckolded Husband
Mr. Franklin, I believe I have thou to thanketh for this rash upon my privates. From the time whence I began fornicating with women, I hath always placed a sheath upon my sword. But in marriage to my dearest Hepzibah, I placed my cannon–wrapping days behind me. Alack! That filthy wench has instructed me that she passed me the Lover's Sores from thine indiscretions. I pray that one day your rod is struck by lightning so that you may know the burning pain I feel. Irritated in more ways than one, William Boylesby
