Originally posted and mailed on October 4, 2004
Bill, Roger and me
Fox News Channel
cc: Bill O'Reilly
Dear Mr. Ailes,
I am writing you to express my support for Mr. O'Reilly in his hour of need. I've read the Andrea Mackris lawsuit, and I don't think he did anything wrong. I mean, what red-blooded heterosexual man wouldn't call up a pretty underling and demand to have phone sex with her. That's one of the perks of capitalism my friend.
Sure, some people might make unfortunate jokes about a man who calls up an employee and pleasures himself with a vibrating appliance until his little rifle empties it magazine, but who among us hasn't done the same thing. There's nothing wrong with admitting it. A little prostate stimulation is good for a man. Heck, I bet it's what keeps Dick Cheney alive. It doesn't mean anything, especially if it's a woman you're talking to and you've given the appliance a woman's name like "Jo"--that's what I call mine, "GI Jo."
I've been a fan of yours for years, beginning in the days of your service to Ronald Reagan. I like the cut of your jib. You're a warrior, much like myself, and I'd like to pay you the ultimate tribute one warrior can give to another--I want to wrestle you nude in the manner of the ancient warriors of Sparta.
I'm imagining it now as I write this. You'd come over to the compound. I'd have a banquet of buffalo wings and Coors beer all set out. You'd absolutely get a six pack into you just as quick as I could get it into you...maybe intravenously...get those cans of Coors into you...
I'd want to take a shower with you right away. You would basically be in the shower and then I would come in and join you. Your back would be to me and I would take a pumice stone thing and scrape your gloriously naked hairy back...scrape it all over, get you to relax, hot water...and um...you know, you'd feel the tension drain out of you, and uh, you'd still be standing there with your back to me. Then, I would kind of move my hand around the front and rub your big hairy manly belly. Then with my other hand, I'd start to massage your man-boobs and get your nipples really hard...cuz, it's something the warrior in me likes and you really have spectacular man-boobs.
So anyway, I'd be rubbing your big hairy man-boobs and getting your nipples really hard--in a purely heterosexual kind of way, mind you-- and biting your neck from behind just as our ancient Spartan forbearers did so many years ago. And then I'd put my challah in the crack of your bomb-bay, very lightly, so as to distract you. Then I'd go for a two-point single leg take down and the match would begin.
You'd probably slip out and come back with a guillotine move, grinding your little propagandist hard into my leg, toying with me, teasing me, because that the kind of guy you are. We would wrestle like that throughout the night, neither of us able to put the other in a position of complete submission. We'd become a pulsating ball of sweaty flesh, man-boobs slapping out a clapping cadence each time we shifted position trying drive our manhood home.
At dawn, drained and spent, we would come together as warriors, united forever by our night of battle. It would be glorious.
Give me a call.
Gen. JC Christian, patriot