Project Runwaaaaaaaaaaah!!!

Dear Kenley Collins,

Good day to you, young fashion designer. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther, best-selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast, and hater of you.

Well. Well, well, well. You did it. You are going to fashion week. I suppose kudos are in order. Well, you shall receive no such kudos from me.

Yes, you are a mildly talented designer. Yes, you are rather attractive and fully deserving of prolonged intimate contact with my beautiful engorged penis. But this is not enough to make up for your piercing whine, your ever-rolling eyeballs and your unjustified feelings of social persecution. It's enough to make you appear downright un-fuckable.

I know some of this is beyond your control, perhaps it's a byproduct of being raised by tugboats. But frankly, your repugnant demeanor and jawless, mush-mouthed complaining makes my penis sad and angry. Egad, it's enough to make me want to stop fantasizing about nailing you sideways against the Bluefly dot com accessory wall.

Going forward, let's work on remedying this issue before next week's season finale. Either work on adopting an attitude as totally fuckready as your immediate outright appearance or somehow disfigure yourself, perhaps by dunking your head into a cauldron of hot fabric glue.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther