Dear Conan,
Yeah, I got the "historical documents" you sent me about the first 25 years or so of your life. Well, we need to talk. Don't get me wrong. You've led a fasinating life....kinda. I mean I totally wish I could of walked in circles for years to get thighs of steel. My flabby butt gets tired walking across the room to get more food. I just want to know one thing: is the real reason you had the chick and the dude follow you was to keep applying the body oil you seemed covered in, or do you need constant validation on your masculinity because the big sword and size-defying muscles aren't enough? Another question: Were you really considering joining the Snake cult after seeing the orgyfest? Don't lie, I saw the sparkle in your eyes, paint can't cover that.
Your friend,
Brooklyn
Dear Brooklyn,
Your death will be quick and painless, o frail little one. There is reason why all bow before me, and it has everything to do with my "big sword and size-defying muscles". I once was fond of you in a puny sort of way, but now no more. Krom will have no mercy for you in the next life.
King Conan
P.S. Do you still make potstickers? They make my blood boil and my heart beat greatly just thinking about them.
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