This note was written on April 5, 1873 by Lyn Greenfeld to her friend Prudence Forrester.

Dear Prudence,

I told you that I would write, and I am. You already now what this letter is about, but I truly need your help to open a girl's school for the facially challenged. It's imperative that the next generation of uglies have the head start I never did. In today's world, they'll need to be prepared and willing to stand up and say, "I love my butterface!"

Now, I can just see you scowl Prudence, but with your help dear friend, I can show these ugly ducklings what an opportunity being less than beautiful really is. I consider my butterface a real Godsend. Look, the world did not open itself up to me (and it won't for my students) like it does for the pretty girls. I was forced to work hard for what I wanted. That's how I developed the social, business, musical (I am a concert pianist in case you forgot) and erotic skills that more than make up for this less than perfect grill.

There are so many reasons to love my butterface! Like for instance, if a woman has a beautiful face, they can't go into the sun. That's no fun. And there is a lot of maintenance that goes along with a pretty face, all the creams and lotions, not to mention all the time it takes to apply them. But I don't have to bother with any of that. This face ain't getting any better, so why try? Not having to deal with the up-keep leaves me time to do something productive, like know who's running our government. (Idiots, by the way)

So what do you think Pru? Are you in? We need to act and act fast because this culture is becoming more beauty obsessed by the second. There is no time to lose. The ugly ducklings of this country and world are counting on us. We can do this. We can show them that this world is really theirs for the taking. I've got to go now. I'm going hot-air ballooning.

Yours truly, Lyn

Prudence answered YES, and the next fall THE LYN GREENFELD SCHOOL FOR THE FACIALLY CHALLENGED opened and provided the education for hundreds of butterfaced girls. Their most famous student? Eleanor Roosevelt.

This is a letter Henry David Thoreau sent to his Aunt in November of 1846. At that time Thoreau was living alone on Walden Pond, which was 1.5 miles away from his family home.

November 5, 1846

Dearest Aunt,

I want to thank you for your letter reminding me that Thanksgiving is fast approaching. It's funny that your letter was dated November 4th. I find it hard to believe that it found its way to my remote location so quickly. I'll assume it was dated, October 4th.

My heart was a flush with your generous invitation to join you for Thanksgiving dinner, but alas I have to decline. Because you know that from this great distance, even if I left right now, I could never arrive at your door on time. If only your letter would have come sooner. I'm afraid that I will have to spend another holiday all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, alone, again.

But do not feel bad for me dear Aunt. For I will have a feast of berries and tree bark when I recount what I am thankful for. And what am I thankful for? Let's see, I have my health, my very small and drafty house in the middle of the this savage infested jungle and....my health.

Oh I will miss you and dear Uncle John this year. How I'd love to hear his stories of fur trapping. If only I was within a safe traveling distance. In fact, I'm so far out here that I'm not even sure I'm still in the United States or even on Earth. And if I am indeed on a different planet, there is no way I could get back in time for Thanksgiving. Pity, because I could use some of your muscle building treats. I guess these pants will just keep on getting bigger and bigger, which is fine, really; because out here in the badlands you need to be able to move fast to survive. Anything other than skin and bone would just slow me down.

So again dear Aunt, I thank you for your belated invitation. I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving, and I will use my solitude here in the dense and dangerous wilderness to write something meaningful. And if, dear Aunt, an animal should have me for their Thanksgiving dinner, please know that I died happy, even though if I had had some food I could have had the strength to fight, but I'm sure you tried to bring me some, but were too far away. Be well and chew slowly.

All my love,

Hank

That Thanksgiving Thoreau did not starve or get eaten by wild animals. He was picked up by a carriage and taken the 1.5 miles to his Aunt's house for Thanksgiving dinner, where after gorging himself for 7 straight hours, he crapped his pants. 

The following is an unpublished letter written by Jefferson Davis, former President of the Confederate States of America.

 May 10, 1865

Dear Friend,

I am writing this letter to inform you that I am a loser, a bum, a good-for-nothing, a pile of horse dung. I was close, so close to making a new nation, so close to success. I had it. I had it within my grasp, but I let it slip away. And now it is gone, gone forever.

And why, why did I lose this so-called Civil War? Well, I can tell you why I did not lose this war. I did not lose because the North had more money, more soldiers and more guns. That was not it, no, not by a long shot. I lost, because I was not tall enough...God damn that Abraham Lincoln, all six feet four inches of him!

I had always heard that tall people were successful. And being six foot one, I always thought I was tall enough. But alas, I was not. I am so sorry my Confederate brethren. I am so sorry that I failed you so, that I came up three inches short. But what else could we have done? I was the tallest man in the Confederate government! I guess we were doomed from the start.  

What will future generations think of me my friend? Will my place in history be that of a punch line? Yes it will, unless I can beat Lincoln at his own game! I may not be able to rescue a nation, but I can rescue my family from ridicule!

That's why I will find the tallest woman in the land and marry her! Together we will have tall children, who in turn will marry other tall people and have even taller children! And that cycle will continue until the Davis family is taller than the Lincoln family! Then, finally, I will have my victory! Ha!

There is much to prepare and so little time, I must go. Wish me luck my friend!

JD

 Jefferson Davis did as he said he would. He married the tallest woman in the South and had some tall children. Then they had some tall children and so on and so on until today the descendants of President Davis are pretty darn tall, in fact taller that Lincoln's descendants. What a victory.

The following is a letter written by Joseph Stalin to Nazi Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering in March of 1946.

Reichsmarschall Goering,

How's prison life? Making any friends? Have you seen the latest Bogart picture? Forgive my poking fun at your position or don't. I don't care. This is not a friendly letter. No, I've got a few bones to pick with you Reichsmarschall.

I know you were instrumental in the final solution and the four-year plan to drive the Jews from the business and social world of the Reich. In fact I believe that you're the only person left who played a big part. That being the case, I just wanted to say that you and your homosexual, occult worshipping, goose-stepping buddies accomplished nothing. I mean, you call that a genocide? I'll show you a genocide.

You think you're evil? You think you're mean? You think you're tough? You're bush league Goering, BUSH LEAGUE! I'll show you real power, Russian power. What I'm going to do is make Adolf Hitler look like the prissy, pansy, nancy boy he really was.

I'm not going to do stupid stuff like put starving people in ovens and gas showers. I'm going to send my enemies to the north, feed them and make them work for the State until they drop dead on the spot. But that's just me. I'm a good manager. Something your Fuhrer never learned because he was too busy eating vegetables and masturbating to his niece's memory.

Also I'm not going to hide my killing. If my so-called Allied partners want to stop me, let them try. Trust me, they're too mired down in fancy trials and rebuilding Europe to care about a few million rotten apple Russians getting the axe.

So you poofter, with the time you have left, sit back and watch a real professional go to work. That's all I have to say. It's been a long day, and I need to purge someone.

Regards,

Joseph Stalin

PS: My nephew is a big fan and somehow got a hold of a letter you wrote to Hitler. Could you please autograph and send it back? Thanks a million!�

Alexander Martin, Governor of North Carolina and Delegate to the Constitutional Convention

This is a speech given by Governor Martin to the Constitutional Convention on September 7th, 1787.

My dear gentlemen, as we come close to completing this document and laying the foundation to the greatest experiment in human history. I pray that we table a discussion of slavery and move on.

There are many of you, wearing cotton shirts I might add, who think slavery is a most evil institution. Myself, feel we could do better, but not now. Now is not the time to set these people free. Because if we let the slaves go, who will do the work that the real Americans don’t want to do? Who will pick the cotton, plow the wheat and deliver us our corn?

You Mr. Franklin? You Mr. Jefferson? You General Washington?

The slaves, whether you like it or not, are valuable workers that provide a service and help keep our economy moving. And as a fragile young nation, keeping our economy on the carriage path of growth should be of the utmost importance.

And don’t assail me with the hollow arguments that plantation owners are taking advantage of the Africans by paying them a near non-existent wage, that that has caused a wage depression in this country and that real Americans would pick cotton or anything else, if they could just get a living wage.

We know that not to be the case. Americans are, for lack of a better word, prissy namby pambies. We love to wear powdered wigs, play with swords and talk of big ideas, but we don’t like to get our hands dirty. And to make my point, let me see everyone’s fingernails…Madison, get your hand up….spotless. I thought as much.  

Now let's suppose that we do let the slaves go home and pay real Americans a real wage to pick cotton. What happens? The price of that cotton shirt you're wearing goes up, and so does the price of everything else. That's inflation, and inflation we cannot have.

My friends, because of our laziness and our pale skin, that burns in the heat of Apollo’s mighty sun, we must leave the work of the land to the slaves. And don't feel bad. They like the work. It gives them satisfaction. And whether you believe it or not, they are living better here than they did there in barren Africa.

So in conclusion, until the day real Americans come to their senses and decide that any job at any wage is worth their effort, we must keep the slaves. It’s a matter of national security. Thank you.