Dear Write This,
This might stretch credulity but I assure you it's true. I have chosen to contact you rather than any mainstream outlet because I've been an avid reader since your inception - albeit, in an investigatory capacity - I long ago recognized that you were of the quality to not be restricted by cultural pretensions hiding behind lofty but insincere concepts like 'journalistic standards'. I chose you over Penthouse because it is well known that Penthouse is on its way out.
I'm a government employee. A Secret Service Agent. If this gets your attention it is meant to do so. I'm writing this in a manner in which I do not display the characteristics of my own personality. Obviously I'm changing a few of the particulars. Also I won't reveal any actual operational details. But in very broad terms this was the first time that I, while working this level of Presidential Security, was assigned to the Republican National Convention. The level of security I'm referring to is the final circle before the guys who actually walk next to the President and jump in front of bullets.
When we swept the arena a few nights before, one of my subordinates found a loaded 9 mm handgun behind a heating duct. It was registered to a janitor and he would be sitting this convention out in the company of the Department of Justice. On the third night of the convention I still wasn't entirely aware of the circumstances of his disposition but the feeling was the gun was unrelated to the convention. This is the night the President would be on premise and speaking. My senses were on full alert.
Part of my supervisory responsibility is to do things differently every time and to test our arrangements unpredictably. I hadn't been on the actual convention floor yet and that is where I walked and looked at people and felt trends. I've been in the service for a long time. I keep myself appropriately private but personal reflections will find their way in. How very goofy these people would seem to Write This. On stage is what appears to be the Morman Tabernacle Choir in squeeky clean blackface. The Alabama delegates are drunk and fat. Some of the balloons have escaped the nets in the rafters and have fallen to the floor.
As I passed the Tennessee delegates something bouncy and large breasted like nothing I have seen since Mary Lou Retton visited the White House in 1984 catches my eye and I think about ways to take a personal interest in her belongings. I stopped next to her and flashed a badge then asked her a couple of questions I knew she couldn't answer. She said something like "Wow. I've never met a secret service agent before." "Victoria Perkins Wadsworth" from Bone Cave, Tennessee. I get her phone number and walk to one of the exits kicking balloons as I go.
My earpiece crackled and I was informed the President was on his way. I made a run-through then met the agent who is the President's point man. I made visual contact with the President. The point told me that the Vice President was also in the building as were the Attorney General and some of the cabinet. This was very odd in this post 9-11 world. When I asked why he shook his head and we exchanged puzzled glances.
The President was not due to speak for another half hour. I stationed Agent Buddy to watch a particular entrance and walked back out onto the floor toward the Tennessee delegation. I didn't see the big titted woman and as I continued on across the floor I did a radio check with with my team. Receiving a muffled response from Buddy, who should be right around the corner, I hustled to where I should see him but don't until he stepped out of a small storage area looking disheveled.
"What the hell..." as I got these words out, the little Tennessee bumpkin that I had my eye on stepped out as well. Buddy said cryptically, "It's happening all around". We go way back and I'm no prude but, goddamn, you can't be doing this on duty. I told him we'd talk later and sent him to the other side of the Arena where I wouldn't have to look at him. I turned and faced little Miss Tennessee and she looks at my bulge. I get a raging hard on. She licked her lips provocatively then produced a security badge to show me she's not just another delegate after all. I shit you not, she grabs my hand and leads me into the closet and through a little passage hidden under a table. Being a big man I have to get down on my hands and knees to crawl into this space and it is dark. She shoves me from behind and I'm in darkness.
When my eyes adjust I see there is BUSH right in front of my face. The scent is powerful. It's sweet and not putrid and I begin CONDOLEEZA. DICK CHENEY is rising to attention. "Look. Look through this hole in the wall", she said. There was, I shit you not, in full RUMSFELD, ASHCROFT onto a topless mannequin. Despite all of the strange things that I was experiencing my unit was ready to go. I slowly got on top of her and inserted DICK CHENEY. She cooed and moaned that it felt so good. I pulled out to lick WOLFOWITZ. She takes DICK CHENEY and does KARL ROVE. "RICE me RICE me", she screams. "Not there. Not there. Yeah. Yeah. That's it. Oh POWELL POWELL COLIN. yES yESS yESSS!"
signed by,
"Bloog Mandrake"
