Dear Variance

Dear Variance,

     While I understand that it is in your nature, like the clap, to visit almost everyone now and then, I feel that you are beginning to verge of herpetic territory. Whenever I feel like the sores from your last visit are finally gone, you re-emerge, red and swollen. Like my junk. So I must kindly request, that after the past two months of excessive butt-rape you please consider my rectum sufficiently stretched and please remove the gargantuan cucumber you are sporting from between my asscheeks. For verily, I say unto thee, you have fucked me so long and so hard that I may never again be able to fart without it sounding like the entire audience at the Metropolitan Opera giving a standing ovation.
     Or, since you have managed to deplete my online bankroll to the point where I had to struggle at clearing a bonus tonight just to make my buy-in to the charity tourney this Sunday, allow my vestigial Christian memories to resurrect my C game and make the money just once this weekend. That will certainly allow you greater joy, because then, like Job, you can torture me anew.
     
Yours truly,

Falstaff