To Whom It May Concern

Old Decrepit Pervert

I cannot help but be both amazed and disgusted by Hugh Hefner, owner of Playboy Enterprises. I shouldn't say amazed at him, more amazed at the people who associate themselves with him. The guy is like what, 90 years old now? And these blood sucking whore blondes who get airbrushed in his magazine hang out at that mansion with him and countless idiot airhead movie stars and sports stars who think you are in the 'in crowd' if you get into the Playboy Mansion.

I suppose the fact that if Hugh Hefner was not owner of Playboy he would be known as Hugh Hefner, retired municipal bus driver, but since he has all that money, it's okay for him to basically buy friends so they will hang around with his nasty wrinkled ass as he walks around in that ugly as sin silk robe that he wears all the time. Can you imagine what is underneath that thing?? EEEEEK, I shudder at the thought. And yah, the girls that marry him, oh, they are in it for him, not the money. Right, my white ass, it's all about the money, I mean, what would it be like lying in bed naked with that ugly, yellow toothed freak? GOD, GROSS!!! YUCK!! I mean, sure, I would never be in bed with any man, but for you ladies out there, you have to want to projectile vomit at the very thought of that nasty man naked.

Yes, I do thumb thru the occasional Playboy, that's how I got this idea, looking at the half naked women running around that mansion with half dead Hugh and all the stupid actors and sports celebrities. It would be nice just to have enough money to turn down an invitation to the Playboy mansion, but unfortunately, I can't buy my friends. No, wait a minute, that isn't unfortunate, that just lets me know who my real friends truly are. I can tell you this much, for all the money he has, Hugh Hefner still lies down in bed at night a lot lonelier than I am, because I know who my friends really are.