Dear Madam,
[Our
research finds that our readership is overwhelmingly female]
Your
supposition that The Smitty (living, breathing) is any less than such is
preposterous. We invite you to ins(p)ect the environs: the storied “Crack
House,” to sit on the storied Couch of The Misters, visit their shower, touch
Shoeland, finger their flower boxes –
But
wait! That is exactly your miserable scheme!
Avaunt
ye, witch! (the rumpfed runyon cries).
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