Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man

39

Mr. Laurence Clarke

c/o Gumbino

311½ West 20^th Street

New York, New York

Lorenzo, mi amigo—

You’re not going to believe this. Damn it all, you are simply not going to believe this.

I’m getting married in the morning. Here, in glorious Cuernavaca. Me. Steve. Your old buddy, the permanent bachelor.

And it’s all your fault, you sweet old sonofabitch.

That’s not the part you’re not going to believe, although God knows it’s unbelievable enough. The capper is that I’m getting married to Lisa. Your ex-wife. That Lisa.

Well, in this case you can’t be pissed, can you? I mean, I waited until you were done with her before I picked up on her. You can’t be pissed this time.

As far as I’m concerned, you’re Thomas Edison and Marconi and all those cats rolled into one. Because I took your advice again, Larry, and this time I made it work. Turned her on but good, flipped her over, rammed it halfway to her small intestine, and pinned her steady while I pumped it to her.

Screamed her head off. I thought we would have Mex cops all over the bed. But I kept it up just the way you said, and lo and goddam behold, Larry, if it didn’t work like a charm.

Fantastic. She’s got big tits and a rich father and she worships the fucking ground I walk on. Keeps telling me I’m the only genuine man in a world full of faggots. All I have to do is look at her and she melts.

Now I know how God feels.