Dearest Svetlana,

[blutharsch]

You are less than mediocre. Hence, you read my text. You reassemble in different texts, conjugate in the vulgate tongue. Meet me in the Fifth Bolgia, or possibly on the Iberian Penninsula, which is probably the same thing.

With Love,

Constantin

Comments

[kaelte]

Dear Constantin,

Take your pathetic, trochaic smatterings somewhere else. We have no use for them here in the Soviet Union.

Unfaithfully yours,

Svetlana

[blutharsch]

Miss Svetlana Goebbels,

If you wish to contine this exercise in futility, I highly encourage you to find another means of masturbatory pleasure. We all know how much you love to read your own text. While we are talking about text, what is this nonsense about 'trochaic smatterings'? You know what I think? Well, I am going to take this time to enlighten you. I think that you are slightly miffed that I didn't buy you that dacha in Beruit. Or the dacha in Odessa. Personally, my dear, dear Svetka, I don't blame you. I would be miffed, too, if my androgynous Lithuanian lover didn't lavish me with attention and, well, dachas in exotic locales. Not that the Ukraine is particularly 'exotic,' but comparitively-speaking, when we refer to your one-room shack in Archengelsk, USSR, it makes Odessa seem like Mauritania, sans the swarthy Africans.

By the way, I love your suit. It brings out your small waist.

Pugnaciously yours,

Constantin the Great![exclamation point for added scenster pointage.]