Candilynniffer

STEVE: Our next sketch this whenever, was, I’m happy to tell you, lost in a tragic leaf-blowing incident. The downside to this act of utter stupidity is, of course, that minutes of half-hearted, yet utterly worthless effort has been forever lost to wherever it is blank documents go when one shruggishly stomps a laptop down a storm drain in a fit of apathetic rage. But the downside is that I’ve bothered to replace it at all. How unfortunate for us both.

That said. We now present to you this letter I pulled out of someone’s mailbox on the way here.

STEVE OPENS AN ENVELOPE, PULLS OUT A HANDWRITTEN LETTER.

(READS) “Dearest Candilynniffer… I am but the quaintiferouest gentlehuman this side of not-being-dead. It would pleasurbate me in a similar fashion to the direct stimulation of mine genitilic regions – up to and including climax, as well as the release of genetic material in a more or less messy, sloppy, and perhaps even disappointing fashion – on your part, but most certainly not mine – if you were to acknowledge my existence and bestow upon me a wholly earned appraisal of my value as a mostly harmless, wholly humble sexual beast that instinctively engorges your own dribbly bits and pieces in some preferable fashion.” Signed, “Masturabatoriably yours… Duncan.”

Well, Duncan… That certainly was a letter. But, I’m afraid that… Oh, wait. There’s another bit right here.

(READS) “P.S. I have included a self-portrait of my phallacial appendage, as well as a self-addressed stamped envelope for you to reciprocate in kind.”

STEVE REACHES INTO THE ENVELOPE, PULLS OUT A PHOTOGRAPH.

Yup. That’s definitely a penis.

Night-night.