Open Letter From Travis Henry To His 9th Illegitimate Child

[kanatablues]

Open Letter From Travis Henry, Denver Broncos Running Back, To His 9th Illegitimate Child
Mon 27 Aug 2007
Posted by Butter Chicken



Dear Son,

I know that you don’t know me, and that I never call you or acknowledge your existence, but always remember that I am your daddy. Maybe you are offended or angered by the fact that I do not recall your name, but never deny the fact that I am your daddy. Your Christian name is of little meaning to me, as the love in my heart goes beyond simple names. However, for the sake of this letter, I will refer to you as “$3,000-per-month Henry”, or perhaps “#9″ (as set out on the list prepared by my lawyer).

#9, There will be people who will tell you that you were a mistake, an accident. These people could not be more wrong. You were no accident. I deliberately chose not to wear a condom. I find them constricting and they deny me the smoooooooooth yet grinding feeling of real lovemaking. I despise condoms. They are like handcuffs for your penis (penis-cuffs, if you will). I will not be restricted when I sex women such as your mother up. Man, I hate condoms. It’s like typing with mittens on. I cannot abide a dry, restrained penis. Condoms are total shit. I often go into drug stores, open packages of condoms and bite off the reservoir tips. In fact, I am no longer allowed in Walgreens, despite my repeated requests to be allowed to fill my Valtrex subscription. Typical pro-prophylactic fascism. If I had a nickel for everytime I was being pinned to ground by a security guard inside a Rite-Aid with a mouth full of latex nibs, I would be a rich man. Actually, I would like a nickel for each time, as I am having serious financial problems for reasons I cannot begin to understand. All of this because I want people’s ejaculations to be free. This is the kind of freedom our troops are fighting for in Iran, man.

Shit, I don’t even wear latex gloves for washing dishes. I just shove my hands in the soapy water, and just scrub those dishes all bareback and shit. The dish soap is kind of like the lube, the juice that keeps the scrubbing going. Yeah, that’s right, all that grease and chunks of food running through my fingers, getting stuck in my nails. Jesus, I am getting an erection just thinking about. Man, I could keep this analogy going for days, with only limited periods of rest for the purposes of jerking off. Oh, yeah, Madge, I am motherfucking soaking in it, all right……Unhhhh.

[15 minute break]

Son, I have just ejaculated without making a woman pregnant. This rarely happens, so please let me savour the moment.

[15 minute break]

I am sorry, son. I was gone for a while. I not only savoured the moment, but had nasty, unprotected sex with a Seventh Day Adventist who came to the door. Now, where were we?

Ah, yes. #9, people are going to say bad things about me to you. Stuff like, “he wouldn’t pay to support you” and “he cared more about his cars and jewellery than he did about you.” That shit can be cruel. Just ask your eight other brothers and sisters (#1 to #8) all around the continental United States of America who are being raised by a variety of mothers who receive sporadic child-support payments. That shit can be cruel, but that shit is a pack of damn lies. I love you regardless of any money issues, and I love you for the most important reason of all: you represent the living embodiment of my untameable ejaculate. I look at you, and I see freedom incarnate.

#9, people are going to talk about how I spent $100,000 on a new Mercedes instead of paying your child support. Those people are bitches, and they do not understand what I am going through. It was a normal Mercedes and it cost me an extra $60,000 to get a custom-designed hologram machine to make it look like I was wearing a seatbelt while driving. #9, I fucking hate seatbelts. The fabric tearing and cutting across your body when you drive — fuck that. If I wanted to wear a sash, I would compete in Miss America. No seatbelt for daddy. I want, no, need freedom.

#9, I will eventually have to pay the money I owe your mother, mainly because there is no fucking way on earth I am going to allow myself to get locked up in some prison. As per the condoms and seatbelt above, your father will not be willingly restrained. The thought of being cooped up in a little room 24 hours a day is the most frightening thing I can think of. Jesus, I can’t even stand being in the locker room. I get dressed for games in the middle of a field. Although I appreciate and respect the bareback, unprotected nature of prison sex, there is a tremendous downside: the prison part.

In conclusion, #9, although I will hardly be around your life, I will barely remember your name, and will do my best to avoid any and all financial and emotional commitments to you, do not think that I don’t care. True, I don’t actually care, but please don’t think that. It’ll fuck you up. Just remember that your daddy is proud of you. You are a victory over the forces that seek to bind and shackle penises everywhere. You are the ninth chip in a spermicidal Berlin wall. You are a Trojan-tearing, $3,000 a month icon of genital liberty.

God speed, son. I have to go and tell my lawyer to make a correction to his quote in the article above. I distinctly told him to say that I was “really committed to fathering,” not a “really committed father.” Shit, I even wrote it down for him, and provided him with a copy of my manifesto. Heads will roll, #9, heads will roll.

Your Father, Travis.

[ALL "D"]

great thread kanata!!