"It's a letter from Pa!"
"Quick, open it!"
"Read it aloud!"
"Dear Martha, and my 26 immaculate daughters, whose names I know,
My balls got shot off again. I won't be coming home. I just ain't got the gumption to face the music.
I'm deserting, but only so I may reclaim my balls from the yellow bastard who shot 'em off. His name's Jorlintz - not sure about the spelling - and he's holding my balls hostage. My spies tell me he wears my balls day and night as a sort of neckerchief. Imagine that; parading my severed balls around, the insufferable swaggercock.
I've tunneled behind enemy lines, and directly beneath Jorlintz's tent, where I presently bide my time. The gangrene has consumed much of my lower half, yet still I wait, like a crouching ocelot.
I've included a transcript of Jorlintz's nocturnal ravings, just to prove your Pa hasn't gone hog-raving bonkers. You'll find it attached.
Transcript, Dec. 18, 1864 [Edited for clarity by your dear old Pa]:
(Jorlintz laughing diabolically for 45 minutes straight without even drawing in a breath, near as I can tell.)
Jorlintz: "I know you're down there, you little muskrat! Ima keep stabbin' 'round 'til I getcha!"
[Editor's note: Jorlintz has already 'got' me with his bayonet multiple times, but only in the gangrenous portions of my body, and so I have been largely able to stifle my squeals of indignation.]
Jorlintz continues: "First thing tomorrow I'm gonna have the camp doctor sew your balls onto me! Watchu think o' that?!??! Huhh?!!??"
[Editor's note: If he only knew that those balls of mine are voodoo-cursed.]
(Maniacal laughter for about 2 hours, accompanied by downward bayonet thrusting.)
End transcript.
So now you see how deranged this Jorlintz fellow truly is. Indeed, my network of informants have been gradually revealing to me a grand design, begun many generations back, in which Jorlintz's ancestors planned for him to steal my balls in the present day. It seems there was also a prophecy, but I have yet to get my hands on it.
At first light tomorrow I'm busting out of this dirt to give Jorlintz a real tongue lashing. If Jorlintz doesn't take my harangue well and things go sideways, please burn my hoard of sacred scrotal oils, and associated paraphernalia, as Jorlintz is likely to come for these as well.
Martha, if he comes, you mustn't fall for his tricks. He will likely utilize my balls to pass himself off as me. He is wilier than you can even imagine.
If all goes well, you shall see me soon, and with four balls instead of two.
They'll be sewn where you can see 'em.
Hope this reaches you in time for Christmas.
Love, Pa
P.S. This doesn't count as desertion. I mean technically it does, but it really shouldn't. "
-
Stunned silence reigned in the kitchen.
There was a knock at the door.
It was father.
Or at least, it looked somewhat like father, as though father's skin had been stretched over an already-perfectly-good set of skin, and with uncanny results.
A fetid scrotum had been sloppily sewn to the figure's forehead, and whether it was really father or not, this feature endowed the fellow with a certain prestige which could not be ignored.
"Is the kettle on, Martha?" the man asked. "I've come frightful far." He snickered as he spoke, containing his mirth only with greatest difficulty.
Martha and the girls said nothing. In all likelihood it was Pa, for he was forever testing them with elaborate scenarios, most of which involved his balls being usurped by various lunatics. Best to play it safe for now.
The abomination took a step forward.
"Have you received any post from me as of late? It has come to my attention that a man named Jorlintz has been forging letters using my seal. Has there been any such correspondence?" The extra skin was slowly sloughing off the figure like hot lava. One of the girls vomited into a flowerpot in the entryway. Many of father's scenarios involved epidermal abomenomena such as this one, but one never quite got used to their grotesquity.
"No matter about Jorlintz. I have dispatched him anyhow. As you can see I have taken the liberty of sewing his very own ballsack on my face for all to admire. You see?
"Now girls, do please bring your father his collection of rare oils and lubricants. I wish to take a thorough inventory here in the front garden. I suspect that wretched 'SOSOP' may have sent agents to pilfer my hoard. And dear Martha, I'd like to have a word with you privately in the outdoor shower, if I may. Also, I must say that I am rather disappointed, for not one of my resplendent daughters has yet given her dear old Pa a smooch."
Suddenly one of the girls shrieked.
"That's Father's balls on his face! Look, you can see the tattoo of his schematic on it!"
"Blast!" screamed Jorlintz.
Within moments the girls had manned their battle stations, and the house was transformed into a formidable fortress.
Jorlintz turned away. The posies were mesmerizing.
Pulling out his portable telegraph, Jorlintz began to tap out an urgent message:
"TO SOC OF SACK-OBSESSED PARAGONS, THE OCELOT IS OUTSIDE THE CHICKEN COOP. SEND ME 'THE WEDGE'. J."
Moments later, the first flaming bottle of scrotal oil exploded nearby, searing off half of Jorlintz 'Pa' face.
"War," he said to himself. "War never changes." Hunkering behind a shrub, Jorlintz braced as the daughters, commanded by Ma, unleashed their full fury on his position.
"Even the civil ones," Jorlintz muttered, popping his balls out of his fly in preparation for a thunderous counterattack.