To my silent fan you cannot see my apple in your eye

WTF? Could it get any worse. Probably...

Stubborn but open minded, endeavors rest upon the possibilities nature displays before us, a palimpsest of skin, muscle and bone. This time, though, the princess has golden locks flowing from castle high, waiting for his prince to climb the luxurious tresses, like swimming through a sea of stringy vanilla pudding. She can’t work backward, she with that look. The horny look a woman has when she hasn’t had sex in a while.

There's another door to which she can run, free of delay and inhibition, a place where she could allow herself to be as easy as Madlibs for she has carved the framework herself. Her artistic temperament was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from Parkay soft margarine spread. Every scratch, every doodle, every mark she's still yet to pays homage to her passions much like a groupie at a Nickelback concert.

This is what some call a "first-class transition." Sure, I'm laced with metaphors and similes and the night is young in the most figurative of ways, but the story is simple, like my sister. But unlike sister, this plan just might work. You know, that touching or breathing that starts and stops and starts again just because you want it to, or continues to move back and forth and back and forth, much like an oscillating fan, can engender the greatest of excitements both high and low. Yeah, I'm filled with subliminal meanings and want you to dissect everything I scrawl until you have a difference between the beer and the can that holds the beer, but take it as you will; I always say what I mean....and what i mean is i want to free you from your guilt and pain. and good writing.

He gets letters (from the clearly insane):

"delightful ad. are you familar with pablo neruda? such fun with words! I love to be amused."