Tranny Letter Fridays, with Special Guest: Bit Bit The Chihuahua.

Dear Serena,

Whatever “supplements” you’re injecting into your tranny ass, taking is making you look a lot like Patrick Ewing. Patrick Ewing is disturbing enough to look at as it is and I really don’t need to see him squeezed into a tight dress with a pair of man-cleave peeking out to say hello. And while I do appreciate that you shaved your chest hair and mustache (kind of), you should have headed further north to your eyebrows that appear to know no bounds. Much like that sad ass weave that you got from the Kentucky Derby collection, your eyebrows are scaring the shit out of me. Did you draw those in with a Sharpie? Did Oprah wipe her ass on your face and leave skid marks? (Gayle’s gonna be pissed.) Are you and Peter Gallagher having an eyebrow growing contest? I’m so confused.
Anyways, the point I’m really trying to make is that ‘roiding up is nothing but bad news Serena. You’re going to end up having a manlier chin than Rumor Willis, your balls will shrink and you won’t be able to get it up anymore.
Don’t say I didn't warn you.

Love, Me.

P.S. don’t beat me up.


Dear David,

Why can’t other celebrities follow your lead and be a happy addict??? Truly you are a man who enjoys his Jack and Coke..(not the fizzfizz kind, but the sniffsniff kind). I don’t know what kind of statement you’re making by dressing up like Betty White on her way to a PTA Christmas party, what I do know is that Tom Cruise has gotten wind of your new look and knows that this is a cry for gay sex help. He’s beaming himself over to your house to recruit you for Scientology. Don’t worry. Tom told me that the recruitment process is really simple and only requires you to sign some paperwork, answer a few questions, receive an anal probe topped off with a Xenu teabag massage and a happy ending, to rid you of any evil alien entities that live within you. He’ll probably have to do it a couple times…those evil alien entities are stubborn bastards. But seriously, it’s no big deal.

Love, Me.


(And now a letter from OUR mailbag……)

Dear Elaine,

This letter is a desperate plea for your help.
I’m really scared. I’m lost. I’m confused.

Some bald girl wearing a bad, two dollar wig from Ebay is holding me hostage.
I know you understand the urgency of my situation just by the simple fact that I’m contacting YOU for help. After all, it is well known that your people find my relatives delicious. But at this point I don’t care! Come rescue me please! Call Peta, call Chuck Norris, shit, call Paris Hilton! Lord knows what type of disease infested crabs might crawl on me just by sitting on that skank’s lap, but if that’s the sacrifice I have to make to be rescued from the evil clutches of Mrs. Jean Luke Picard, then so be it! Why must I endure the torture of being sandwiched between a bag of pork rinds and a cigarette? One time, she mistook me for a can of Red Bull and drank straight out of my ass. Crazy bitch didn’t even notice she was tossing my salad. (she wasn’t even good at it…and my ass smelled like onions for days on end.)

Help.

Love,
Bit Bit, The Chihuahua


I’m either running out of shit to say or these celebrities are boring the hell out of me. Yes, Brit shaved her head and went wacko, but it’s a sad kind of wacko, not the fun Tom Cruise, jump on the couch, pretend I like girls, spit on Brooke Shields wacko. He’s the master of cuckoo. No one compares. Where are you my Tom??



I miss you.

Have a great weekend everybody!!!!