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We take pleasure in publishing this letter that we have just recieved.

Madam Nicole Esterole

12 rue du lait Condense

Saint Ferme

Dear Sirs at le Mouching,

Four years ago I married a handsome man with the sweet name of Pierre Detaille.  It seemed to me that to have married Pierre, who runs the machines at the “Bonne Maman” jam factory, would be the assurance of sweetness and tenderness. My God was I naive, in spite of my advanced age (71 years old!).

Pierre, in his leisure time, was a passionate fisherman and frequently he invited me to accompany him to a lake called “the Little Hooker” that was a few miles from our house.

There, after he set up the corn and bait for the Chubs, after he affixed his rods on their supports and installed himself in his comfortable folding chair, he pulled down his pants and shorts and obliged me to get down on all fours and… well, I’m not going to draw a picture of the suite. You, who are cultivated men, you have certainly understood.

The first time that I did that for him, in spite of the pounding rain, I didn’t think much about it, I thought to myself that after all it was something normal, just a call of nature and the the good lord must certainly look away from the spectacle.

After three years of this little game, especially when there were other fishermen around the lake who secretly watched us and masturbated without hiding it, I started to feel self-conscious which soon transformed itself into shame and a sort of hatred towards my husband.

Then one day, my husband lay down on the grass for a little siesta. I took advantage of that to get out my swiss knife and with an expert hand I sliced off this little bird and threw it into the middle of the lake.

“Imagine my surprise in seeing an enormous Pike grab the sliced member of Pierre and gulp it down as though it was no more than a vulgar worm, inspite of the piercing cries of my husband

At that moment my taste for this astonishing fishing technique was born. It was soon obvious that the lack of first rate material is a problem. My frequent visits to the cemeteries did not provide fruitful results. The willys of the cadavers lacked freshness and the fish pouted. Today I thought that an organ donation could do the trick and with your enormous popularity, if you would help me, it might work.

What do you think?

Thank you in advance for your response,

yours,  Nicole Esterole

                                     Dear Nicole,

What an exciting story.  What’s more, after reading it Cyril locked himself in the toilets with Louise, our last typist.

 In any case we shall send a letter to Mister Rocco Siffredi who, as you know, remains the master in hard material; we feverishly await his response.