Well...?
Eleven days go by. I finally had to leave LA. That bitch woman aimed a Latvian Rocket Candle at my ass on Fourth of July night. My pants are still smoldering. I wasn't stalking her, for chrissakes. She's a dentist. What's she doing with a Latvian Rocket Candle? The thing was the size of a Visigoth Feast Sausage from the Middle Ages. Must have weighed 120 pounds.
I got the message. I won't bother her again, although lesbians are a turn-on. Don't go tellin' me that was your mom's curse either...
So, Kwannie? Is our baby a boy or a girl? Irv can't have kids. Gotta be mine. We have to get married now.
I'm up in San Jose, at the Ramada off of Lawrence Expressway. Don't have your address but there are ways...
Uncle Vick
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