Boodwah Blues

Dear Lady Woolete,

My bootaneer was ripped off in your boodwah. Passion play may have flung my petalled broach under your elegant canopied bed. I bet a boodwah as fancy as yours gets cleaned frequently by hired help. If this is the case which I am 100% sure that it must be, would you be so kind as to notify your maids to peel back an eye for my decaying adornment.
If found please have me summoned, I frequent Redds tavern daily and this would be an ideal place to start on your search for my where abouts. Once notified I will rush over with the utmost urgency, since, as we all know that Bootaneers lost during passion plays need to be pressed under plastic and inserted in personal scrapbook journals.
Thanks again for allowing me to use the lavatory during your soiree. Who would have guessed I would be pinned down to your velvet flocked duvet by the widow neighbor. Sweaty with menopasalness, that was the clammiest sex I believe I have ever had. Afterwards, I felt like I had been steamed and saunaed wearing an aluminum jumper for a week then beaten with a witches broom soaked in perspiration.

Yours Truly For Sured,

Dirty Boy Flaunt Leroid

P.S.
If by any means the idea of me being groped, fingered, and flogged on your pink sheet set by mood swinging Lorna gags you up. Then maybe this lil' factoid of plight will cheer you up. I now host some awful uncomfortable back boils of Staph caused by her gonad retreating sweats. Pop one of them and rub your lip and you will wake up with strep throat for sure! I can confirm 10 fold that the previous narly statement is for sure, tried, and true! My throat hurts like theres a baby arm holding an apple made of steel Brillo thats dancing down my throat with some tissue tearing moves like hes a scrubbing the big quart spaghetti pot trying to clean a week old marinara stain.