Tom: I mean, Kurt Vonnegut certainly added to the political climate of the sixties, but he was hardly a serious writer.
Nathan: I hope you rot in hell.

Dear Tom,

I know we don’t know each other very well. And I’m sure (taken from the few meetings we’ve had) that we don’t like each other at all. Nevertheless, I feel I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I fucked your wife.

There. I feel better already.

Now, I’m sure that in addition to an apology, I also owe you an explanation. I want you to understand that I am not, by nature, an adulterer. But for you and your wife, I made an exception. You see, you were so smug and haughty and she was so flirtatious and smoking hot, that I just had to fuck her and I had to bring you down a peg.

I’m sure you remember the first night we met. We were in that little bar on 42nd Street. Your wife (who by the way was only 19 at the time, while you were 27—I’m not here to judge but that’s kind of fucked up) and I struck up a conversation while you were in the bathroom. She told me how you were her English teacher her junior year of high school. How she was a virgin when you swept her off her feet. How you even made her wait until marriage before consummating the relationship. And how (and this was the kicker), she was shocked to discover how disgusting and boring sex could be.

I mean, I couldn’t believe that one. I was fucking floored. Here’s this beautiful young thing with skin like a baby’s ass, legs like a model, eyes like freaking Bambi and you couldn’t even fuck her right? For shame. I was about to walk away from the whole thing and wish her the best of luck when you came up and introduced yourself.

Now, I was an English major at the time, and you, being an English teacher, felt it was your job to piss all over my education, the few magazines in which I’d been published, and even the great Kurt Vonnegut. I don’t trust a writer who doesn’t appreciate Vonnegut. Anyway, the next time you went to the bathroom (what’s up with your bladder, by the way?), I took it upon myself to explain to your girl how awesome sex could be. She didn’t believe me. She said she wanted proof.

So I took her outside and fucked her in the cool grass.

Now, I don’t need to give you the details of the sex, seeing as how, after about five minutes, we had an audience taking pictures and video recording the event. And I’ll admit I thought it was funny when I heard that three big dudes beat you up when you tried to stop us. But the best thing that happened that night, most definitely, was the look on her face when she realized what an orgasm was. Wow, was that a delightful feeling. It was like I had created a revelation. Really, it made me feel great. I like to think that I’m here on Earth to help people, and her orgasm was validation of that opinion.

Now, I should have stopped right there. I had made my point to both you and her, but she was embarrassed and felt she needed a place to stay and couldn’t return home to you. So, I took her back to my place and ran a train on her with my roommates. It only took us four days to turn her into a total party girl. Cocaine addiction and all. She really is great. And you really are a lucky man.

I mean, you really were a lucky man. Whatever.

Anyway, I hope the divorce goes smoothly, or as smoothly as one can go. The videotape evidence you have should keep her from getting alimony. If you want to find her, she’s working at one of the many strip clubs here in Tampa (hint: the one she works at is on South Dale Mabry Avenue). She has her own place right now (strippers make good money) and seems to be doing well. One of her boyfriends is an NFL player and he bought her a Jaguar. Isn’t that nice?

In the future, I hope you’ll refrain from criticizing Vonnegut. That man has done more for the English language than you could ever hope to.

And again, I apologize for fucking your wife and ruining your marriage, but I think we can both agree that it just couldn’t be avoided.

My Sincerest Apologies,