Pete and Tim's page for Jerks and their Mothers

Dear Pete and also Tim,

I am not saying this to boast, but I am twenty-five, my figure is 37-25-36, and I have won several beauty contests. Two years ago, I married what everyone (including myself) thought was a prize. He was thirty, handsome, college educated, rosy future, ect.

Well, this "prize" has made love to me exactly five times in the last six months! I've tried every trick in the book. Once, I even gift wrapped myself in Saran Wrap and greeted him at the door with a martini. And he said, "Hi. What's for supper?"

I told him he should see a doctor to find out what's wrong with him, and he said I should see one to find out why I am never satisfied. Any suggestions?

Practically Untouched in Tulsa.

I'll field this one, Pete.

Dear sexy, sexy lady;

Your letter moved me... in the pants! This is the way I wish everyone would write us!

Ok, ok... I'm ready to help you now.

Your husband is very homosexual. I'm sure you are going to want evidense to back that up, so...

First, he was thirty when you married him. According to Tim's fat theory of fattyness the only men that have the option of waiting till they are thirty to get married are gay men and famous people (your husband isn't famous, I hope). Tim's theory purports that at thirty the metabolism of heterosexual men shuts down due to meat build up in the stomach causing one to become both fat and ugly. This shut down doesn't happen with  famous people or homosexuals because famous people and homosexuals eat less meat and more tofu.

Second, your husband uses the word "supper". That's pretty gay in my opinion.

Third, heterosexual men try to have sex with something at least once every hour. Once a month is pretty pathetic, even for a homosexual.

In conclusion, you have a lot of catching up to do (in the sexual department). Please feel free to contact me anytime. I would be happy to come to Tulsa and "help you"( Know what I mean? I'm talking about sex. With you). I hope this letter has helped.

Love Tim.

P.S. If you and I were in a train wreck and we were both about to die, I'd probably say, "Baby, I got an erection, want to have sex?"

I hope that little poem turned you on. Call me. Please.