It has come to my attention that you have been, erroneously, under the impression that your son Roger is gay. If you two want to cry yourselves to sleep thinking that your pride and joy has, 20 years after leaving the teat, exchanged his pacifier for a different … well, for a cock, that’s none of my business.
However, it has also come to my attention that you have concluded this about your son based on his status as my roommate, and on an (erroneous!) assumption that I am a homosexual. I am writing this to set the record straight. As in, penis entering the vagina, sustained rhythmic copulation, and orgasm, possibly mutual. Straight. Thanks.
Before I get to that, though, I wanted to thank you for the housewarming gifts. It may sound inevitably sarcastic to thank someone in writing for a set of potholders, but I have actually burned my hands several times during my young adult life and the gift, even if you couldn’t have known, was taken as exceedingly thoughtful. Notice how I wrote “thoughtful,” rather than “conducive to my gay lifestyle.”
Roger’s been a great roommate, for the most part. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t wash his dishes right away, and I wish he’d let me know when he was planning on going to Safeway, but I can state for a fact that I’ve never seen his cock and that there’s an almost 70% chance that he hasn’t seen mine.
I know that you have recently been FedExed a full-color glossy of your son and me having anal sex. Don’t ask how. I have my ways. This is a doctored photo, Mr. Dunnegan. The skin on my face doesn’t match that body, Mr. Dunnegan. I have an innie, not an outie, Mr. Dunnegan, and am willing to provide documentation to prove it. Is that also not Roger’s real body? Perhaps. Roger can fight his own battles.
I assume your assumption stems largely from my rather obvious good looks, which are often described as “cute” or even “pretty” rather than, say, “swarthy,” “rugged,” or “beefy.” I am, however, undeniably “sexy,” so perhaps it is understandable to think that Roger, if not gay already, would fall under my spell.
You may have heard through the grapevine that my previous roommate was gay, or even that I had been living with gay men for the three years prior to living with Roger. Look, I think we all know the grapevine doesn’t lie, so I’m not going to embarass myself here. I’ll just ask you to politely overlook my history of homosexual associations, because that’s not the issue. Being friends with a gay man doesn’t make you gay any more than being friends with a black guy makes you a rapper.
Sincerely,
Jim Beckett
P.S. If I were you I’d be more worried that my daughter is ugly.
