Dear Chelsea,

Now this student is asking me what semen tasts like. I know you have experience with this — lots and lots of experience — care to weigh in?

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

One of my student employees just came into my office and said:

"Have you ever had two penises in your butt?"

My response:

He said, “You have haven’t you!”

Again, my response:

He continued, “I bet that would hurt. Actually, I have big poops… Does it make me gay if I think it feels good to poop?”

I should also add that he looks like a lesbian who looks like Justin Bieber.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I went hiking this past weekend and I came upon this giant ice vagina. It made me think of you.

Love,
Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I’ve reached a new level of gay. I mean, I’ve always been a big ol’ homo — I’m pretty sure my mother’s uterus was filled with glitter, vodka, and Astroglide instead of amniotic fluid — but I took it to a whole new level tonight.

You see, I was perusing Facebook (like you do) and I was enticed to watch a figure skating (gay) video on YouTube. I fully expected to see some sparkly twink gliding across the ice, prancing and twirling in his ever-so-tight pants and flouncy blouse. What I didn’t expect was my reaction.

I cried.

Yes, I fucking cried.

How could I not? This kid was SO into what he was doing. Imagine Mama June at a Golden Corral — that’s how into his routine this kid was — and the audience was just as into him.  They cheered. They clapped. Middle-aged women beaming at this boy the way you might smile at a big, black dick. It was magical. The audience rose to their feet before his routine had even finished — I’d never seen anything like it!

And I, sitting in front of my laptop in frozen Alaska… I cried. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes and I cried. 

If this is any indication of how I am going to react to the actual Olympics, I better stock up on tampons.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

This is my dog Franklin:

Franklin, canine homophobe

He’s adorable. He’s also a homophobe.

I had imagined that my adorable dog would help me meet adorable men (or adorable women — I live in Alaska now; I can’t be too choosy) because that’s what always happens on television and there is no truer representation of real life than television (except perhaps the Interwebs).  Franklin, however, seems to have other ideas.

You see, I think Franklin gets all of ideas about being gay from Pat Robertson because the only people Franklin ever helps me meet are prepubescent boys. 

I like kids — I hope to have children of my own someday — but I don’t like kids, if you catch my drift. And contrary to what most Republicans and Evangelical Christians might have you believe, gay men aren’t inherently pedophiles. In fact, most psychologists would agree that there is absolutely no link between pedophilia and homosexuality. So take that, Franklin!

Of course, I could just be reading into things. After all, can an animal whose greatest joy in life comes from sniffing butts and poo really be anti-gay?

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

A friend of mine recently came home to her apartment to find an unexpected and, as yet unexplained gift — a copy of “Sexy College Co-Eds” was left at her door.

Some might say that such a gift is inappropriate. I say that gifts of porn are always appropriate. Did a friend recently give birth? Get that child subscriptions to Playboy and Playgirl (plan ahead: the little one could turn out to be gay) — mommy and daddy (or mommy and mommy or daddy and daddy) — can enjoy the, um, articles until the little one turns 18. Did a couple you know recently get married? What better way to spice up the honeymoon than with some post-nuptial porn. Is a friend fretting over an upcoming birthday? Show them that turning another year older is nothing to worry about with some geriatric fetish porn. You see, from birthdays to funerals to holidays major and minor, there’s no better gift than pornography.

Now, my friend seems to be concerned that the porn was left anonymously. I say, don’t question the mysteries of the universe, accept them and be thankful! Take this as an opportunity to indulge — head down to CVS, get yourself a box of wine, a brand-new pack of D batteries and a scented candle, turn off your cell phone and spend an evening getting to know yourself. Opportunities like this don’t knock twice. Though, if they did, I might be wary of what’s on the other side of the door.

Love,

Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

I was reminded tonight that it has now been over a year since I first wrote you…and you still haven’t responded. Bitch.

A lot has happened in the past year, but some things remain the same: you’re still a drunken slut from Jerseg with a sloppy coslopus and I am still a midwestern ‘mo with a hankerin’ for some Handler.

You’ve come a long way from the Garden State, Chels, but one thing’s holding you back from the A-list.. No, it’s not an Oscar (who the fuck is Melissa Leo?), it’s a stalker. And I still think I’m your man.

Listen Chels, you need me and I need you. I didn’t want to bring this up but…I am in serious talks with Bristol Palin’s people. Her star is on the rise and she understands that my talents could bring her to a whole new level. A stalker is just what she needs to go from teen mom to Hollywood phenom.

You don’t want to be outshone by a Palin, do you?

Love, Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

There’s a problem affecting women worldwide that knows no boundaries. It afflicts women of every race and every class and I can’t sit by while the women I love fall victim to this insidious beast. The problem? Bad weaves.

To draw attention to this pandemic and to raise money for it’s eradication, I am creating the No Tracks Foundation, the first non-profit organization dedicated to freeing women suffering from bad weaves and hair extensions from the pain and humiliation of this monster.

Even our beloved Ms. Britney Jean Spears, multimillionaire, suffers from this awful condition, and has for years (see evidence below). The No Tracks Foundation is currently in talks with Ms. Spears’ management for her to become our national spokeswoman. Jennifer Hudson freed her inner skinny as a spokeswoman for Weight Watchers — similarly, we’ll give Britney the beautiful, lustrous, track-free hair she deserves.

Chelsea, as a national figure, could you please end the media’s silence on this threat to women everywhere by drawing attention to this affliction on your show? Together, we can make a difference.

Love,

Ronnie

Poor Britney…

Britney's Bad Weave 

Dear Chelsea,

Have you missed me? I am sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been sleeping with a rapper which is exhausting and doesn’t leave much time for writing. You know how it goes…

Love, Ronnie

Dear Chelsea,

Now that Chuy’s walked out, it seems that you are in need of an assistant. I’d gladly give up stalking you if you’d hire me. Here are a few reasons why I’d make a great assistant:

1.) Assistant starts with ass and I have a great one. Ask anyone.

2.) I have a great memory.

3.) I too love to wear vests and sweater vests.

4.) I don’t have a sex tape…but I could make one to boost ratings during sweeps.

5.) I wouldn’t sexually harass you. Wait, no. That’s not true. I’d probably stare at your fun bags. A lot.

6.) I love making fun of people and I am really good at it.

7.) What am I talking about? Oh, right. Assistant…

Also, please see my first post. I think many of the reasons that I would make a great stalker translate well to assisting.

Think about it. I’m jobless and could start tomorrow.

Love, Ronnie