Dear John Callahan:
You're sick and twisted... and I really like that in a man.
Besides which, you push every button I've got. I'm Irish and an alcoholic and I'm trying to quit (the alcohol, not the Irishness). My older brother was adopted and then - ta da! - I showed up. My best friend is a Catholic priest with AIDS, and we both love your cartoons. And since reading your autobiography - well, frankly, Toots, I've got a ground-floor apartment.
You don't need to worry much about not being able to feel your balls - you've definitely got 'em, more so than any man I've met in a long time.
Many thanks for being such an outrageous bastard and unleashing yourself on the world as is.
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