Dear Bennifleck,

Hola. How are you? I hope you are hell. Just kidding, I meant “well.” OH WAIT, NO I DIDN’T. I just wanted to say hello, and thank you for the generous baby presents that I assume you bought for me but which clearly got lost in the mail because one of you is too busy being BORING to write the address correctly and the other one of you is Ben. So, si, idiotas, I LOVE my MISSING PRESENTS so very much. As Marc said the other night, you put the “ass” in “Muchas gracias.” HA HA HA HA. At least, I think that’s what he said — he was drinking a can of V-8 through two straws stuck on his incisors, but I am pretty sure I understood correctly because that is what love is about, people. Straws and red liquid. Because when you put those two together for a few days straight you get LOTS of horizontal mambo and then LOTS OF BABIES!

Oh, wait, what is that you are murmuring? You could only do ONE baby at a time? WEAK SAUCE, Mrs. Bennifleck! There is WOMB FOR TWO in this lady — ha ha, that was Marc again, he is so funny when he’s playing with his straw fangs! — and I wore heels the entire time, and we haven’t slept in 120 hours and I THINK maybe Marc is shrinking because his coat doesn’t fit any more but I am HERE and I am swathed in a CURTAIN and I am your superior in every way! When was the last time YOU had two babies at once and then went right out and matched your eye makeup to your husband’s best pair of shiny pants? When was the last time you even BOUGHT your Benfleck a pair of shiny pants? That’s RIGHT, enemiga estupida, GAME, SET, AND CHECKMATE to ME!