Joanna Krupa Doing Handstands In A Bikini Deserves Its Own Post
My Dearest Mabel,
I know not when I’ll return from these cold, harsh front lines of Germany, but if I do, I swear to make an honest woman out of you. I know our time apart has been long which is why I write to you this night to reinforce my hope for the future should we win this damnable war. For you see, I fight for a free world where tyranny and oppression will think twice before rearing their ugly heads. A world where a Polish woman can move to America and use her dynamite figure to marry a wealthy businessman as her scantily clad body is repeatedly photographed then transmitted across a vast interglobal network where men’s peckers will be, well, they’ll just be straight rigid, Mabel. It is a silly dream, but it is my dream. Also, I should probably disclose that French hookers are lousy with syphilis, just lousy with it. I replaced my whole platoon’s sidearms with bananas the other day. The ones who survived agreed it was most riotous. Although, they, too, have syphilis.
Stay a virgin,
The Unknown Soldier (I call myself that now. The boys think it’s tops.)