[Like all great art, Kanye West's My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy inspired a great deal of correspondence. What follows are three such pieces of correspondence.]

To: Kanye West (kanyewest@kanyewest.com)
From: Jenna F****** (J*******@gmail.com)
Re: “Yeezy re-upholstered my pussy”

Dear Yeezy,

Thank you so much for last night. You were absolutely amazing, taking me to sexual and emotional heights I never thought possible. Of course, I don't think I've ever been that drunk while screwing before—what was in those shots we were having? Whenever I asked you, you just kept screaming, "I CALL IT MALIBU-YAH! I CALL IT MALIBU-YAH!" 

I get the feeling you didn't really know, either.

Anyway, even though the sex was great, I do have a minor concern. Did you, at some point in the night—I'm embarrassed to even ask, because it sounds so silly coming out of my mouth (but I feel as though I must)—Yeezy, at some point in the night, did you re-upholster my pussy?

I don't want you to think that I'm a prude or that I am against sexual experimentation: foodstuffs, hot wax, various lubricants, all are acceptable; but I have to draw the line somewhere, and I think the re-upholstery of my lady-parts is where I am drawing that line.

Given that my she-cave was never even upholstered in the first place, I'm wondering where you even got the idea to spruce it up at all. My only thought is that perhaps, in your excessive drunkenness, you mistook my vajayjay for an old barstool or badly-worn easy chair; however, this is so insulting to the aesthetics of my beaver that I hesitate to even consider it to be true.

So, I suppose we need to discuss how best I can un-upholster (downholster?) my pussy. The daisy-print slipcover you pulled over my honey cove is nice, but totally inappropriate for a vagina—it has to go. Ditto to the soft-cotton batting you saw necessary to supply my coochie with. Similarly, the vaginal wall re-fabricking you did, though tastefully and seamlessly completed (I can't even tell where or how it's attached!), also must be removed (I would do it myself, but I can't even tell where or how it's attached).

So, if you could, please get back to me with a time and a date when it would be convenient for you to return and strip my pussy if this upholstery, getting my pussy back to looking like a normal vagina and not like an East Tampa retirement community Barcalounger. And before you go getting ideas, let me assure you that this is in absolutely no way a come-on whatsoever and that, if this is your little trick for seeing a girl again, then try leaving your fucking belt next time. Thanks to you, my urine smells like hot glue, and every time I cross my legs, my peach pit emits the embarrassing squeal of vinyl rubbing against transparent sofa wrap. 

Please write back soon.




To: Kanye West (kanyewest@kanyewest.com)
From: Peter Smith (Peter_Smith@couplescounselors.com)
Re: “I sent this bitch a picture of my dick”

Dear Mr. West, 

I am writing you today not as a fan but as a concerned professional. As one of this nation’s leading couples therapists, I’ve observed my fair share of ugly spats, fights, and blowups; that’s why, whenever I can, I try to advise my patients to avoid conflict, as the easiest way to resolve a disagreement is to ensure that it never happens. And if I, as a therapist, could offer you one lesson I’ve learned through my years of experience resolving and avoiding disputes, it is this: the first step towards guaranteeing that your partner is happy in the relationship is to never ever send another bitch a picture of your dick.

I have always preached not sending a bitch a picture of your dick, even though, when I graduated from therapists school, sending a bitch a picture of your dick was very much in vogue. Why, in those days, it was nothing to roll down your denim bell-bottoms, snap a Polaroid of your dick, and send it away to some bitch you wanted to swing with. And sending a bitch a picture of your dick has a long proud history in this country: did you know that U.S. President James K. Polk once had a Daguerreotype made of his dick, to be sent via Pony Express to a bitch he knew in the California territory?

It was some time after Reagan and the Conservative Revolution that sending a bitch a picture of your dick became so frowned upon and recognized as being hurtful to females. Despite fundamental disagreements, since that time, numerous papers on the subject have been written, by relationship therapists from schools as disparate as the Gestalt, the Behavioral Therapists, and the Humanists, and all agree: sending a bitch a picture of your dick is harmful to a relationship's health.

“Why should this be?” you may be asking. “What is it with females?”

Even relationship therapists aren’t too good at that shit sometimes; reading the mind of a woman (or man) is near impossible. But while we can’t read minds, we do know that, empirically, sending a bitch a picture of your dick is bad news. So the next time you have the urge to take a snapshot of your beautiful dark twisted fantasy, just shove those Kanye Westicles right back into your pants and forget about it: it will only end in restraining orders and meetings at Borders.

Kanye, I want to see you succeed in your next relationship, so if you have any questions at all about my strict "Don't send a bitch a picture of your dick" policy, please don't hesitate to write back—preferably without that My_Dick.jpg attachment from your last email.

Peter Smith, LCSW
Board Certified Relationship Therapist


To: Kanye West (kanyewest@kanyewest.com)
From: Parker Monroe (PMonroe@nasib.org)
Re: “Let’s have a toast”

To Mr. Kanye West: 

On behalf of the NASIB, I want to thank you for your eloquent toast to the members of our organization during the chorus of the song “Runaway.” Please know that your salute does not go unrecognized by everyone here in the NASIB, and that we hope you are enjoying the “runaway” success of your latest album.


Parker Monroe
North American Society of Investment Bankers