Jim Bob Duggar
Dear Mr. Duggar,
Wow. You're welcoming your 19th child into the family quiver. I bet you're very proud, and you should be. You're about as potent as a Barry White box set.
But then, I guess some of the credit should go to the steely-tailed Spermatazoan-Americans you harbor in your man-grenades. They're like a team of little superheroes, a mighty league of potency able to shoot down a urethra like a hot-loaded .357 wad cutter and penetrate Ovum-Americans, effortlessly, like a Limbaughian rant through a Birther's skull.
What are your plans for them in the near future? As a Christian, you can't release them into the Duggar family baby machine--it's already occupied by a Fetus-American, and non-procreative sex is a sin.
I can't imagine you participating in the tubesock holocaust; so I suspect you save their little lives by liberating them into a Mason jar. That's what I do. You should come over and see my cellar some time. I have a whole wall of shelves filled with them.
I'm growing a little worried about the little buggers, lately. I'm not sure my Spermatazoan-Americans are as happy as they could be. They just kind of sit there in the jars, doing nothing other than watching Fox news on the tee vee I brought in. It's not like they're dead--their juice still tastes fine. I just think they need more stimulation, more excitement, than what Glenn Beck can provide.
I suspect yours are different, more active. I bet they jump and swim so potently the sperm juice looks like it's boiling right there in the jars. I'd like mine to see that. It might wake them up out of their stupor. Could you send me a quart jar or two?
Gen. JC Christian, patriot