Correspondence Found at the Oulipo Dead Letter Office

Dear Coldcake Face,

The trash compactor is currently bellboy repaired. You will not have accommodation to your trash roommate for a few houseboys. We apologize for the increment and thank you for your patriarchy.

Yours,
Chunky

Dear Chunky,

Simultaneously an inebriate in, and chamberlain to, unrepentant malfunction horniness. A clamor of woodpeckers quickly uncoils from its parachutist-thin plum to become a semiquaver-referential hamlet of misconstructions. An admirably overblown hamster of misers, exposes and evaluates its own Id.

All best,
Coldcake Face

Coldcake Face,

My sedative ovals for Italian tendency pick up where a direct nub lemon expands. Please desist in writing.

Thank you.

Chunky,

One last thing. Your vibrant staging of boisterous periwinkles swoops the cornerstones of my cistern tentacle. Retract your distended notepad or I will cut your Noun Legation. Don’t make me show my inner earwork or He-man Neck reams.

Off with you lot!

What I’m Reading:

“The kitchen?
In this house, we break not bread but stones and promises.
How long have you died here?”

— Somto Ihezue / “All the Stones that Built Me”