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The following letters were written on postage-paid “Tell Us About Your Visit” cards found in Wendy’s fast-food restaurant. They are excerpted from a series of more than 340 letters written over about a year’s time. It first appeared on Hooksexup in 1999 and the novel Letters to Wendy’s. Buy it here. 


September 2, 1996

I love the cleanliness of a Wendy’s. Such a clean is not in any sense a banishing of genitalia; it is the creation of a quiet bright mind-space that allows for the deliciousness of genitalia to become obvious. I look out over the colorful clean tables and the pretty food posters and I like people again; each has a dick and balls, or a cunt and titties, which, clean, are simply enjoyable.


September 10, 1996

I wanted to say today to my register-person that my penis was broad. “My dick is broad,” I would say, or “Do you understand how broad my cock is?” Maybe simply, “The breadth of my penis.” What’s the point? There are times when ambiguity is not a failure to tend to a specific concern, but rather, is an articulation of the limits of concern, without which we are certainly nobody.


September 13, 1996

Rather than restrict sexual activity to a specific set of acts, or restrict the articulation of such acts, we need only draw real lines, lines upon the earth, to mark whether or not sexuality is in this place active. The question, then, is: is sex now, here? If it is, well then. If it isn’t, as, in Wendy’s, it always isn’t, then a campaign dawns, and we stand fast in the sexy inception of already failed propaganda.


September 14, 1996

Last night I dreamt that I pissed on Wendy’s head. I entered the restroom, approached the urinal, and started pissing, when suddenly I realized it was not a urinal at all. . . but Wendy. As I began to protest (to the dream itself) I understood that I must have known it was her. I felt ashamed, yet wronged. I also felt like the only thing I ever  wanted to happen was finally happening.


September 20, 1996

Today I had a Biggie. Usually I just have a small, and refill. Why pay more? But today I needed a Biggie inside me. Some days, I guess, are like that. Only a Biggie will do. You wake up and you know: today I will get a Biggie and I will put it inside me and I will feel better. One time I saw a guy with three Biggies at once. One wonders not about him but about what it is that holds us back.


September 21, 1996

If I had to say what Wendy really was — if she had to be one thing instead of a field of various energies — I think I’d have to say that she was a penis. Something about her face and the shape of her hair, the muffled red coherence of head and torso, and perhaps too her lack of arms and legs. A penis is found in just such a lack of limbs; it’s really amazing when it arrives anywhere.


September 24, 1996

I love to watch a dick slamming in and out of a cunt or an asshole. The only way T.V. could enhance Wendy’s is if it was confined to a showing non-stop hardcore pornography without sound. No ridiculous assertion of plot or personality. Just the real pleasure of lacking language. Just a reassuring view of the signifier itself and it finds its way to its ancient hiding place in broad daylight.


October 3, 1996

I love being in a little girl’s special place. That’s how I look at Wendy’s — it is no less than Wendy’s special place, even if she has abandoned it, or been excluded from it, and even if it has been trespassed by countless strangers by now. If you sit still long enough, you realize you’re deep inside a little girl’s special place, and I don’t care what the priests say — it feels wonderful.


November 15, 1996

A beautiful woman with a Biggie. Nothing else — just a Biggie. She sat alone; she seemed like she was waiting for someone. What lucky soul could make a beautiful woman with a Biggie wait? Who has that kind of power? What person would a beautiful woman with a Biggie find attractive? Only one answer made sense to me: another beautiful woman with a Biggie.


January 4, 1997

It’s wonderful to think of meat sculpted to resemble a penis, but it’s a different thing to actually have it on your plate. So long as it’s an idea, you can lick it, kiss it, without feeling strange. It’s actually being meat is something the idea seems incapable of entertaining. That is, while the idea allows for a wonderful semblance, it forever infuses the necessary biting and chewing with unnecessary sadness.


February 8, 1997

Wendy, will you not even poke me? Not even a slow poke? I wonder why you treat me so. Am I a wooden board? Am I to be thought of as a simple wooden board? Come on, just give me a slow poke. I’m not a wooden board, honey. Come on, just poke me like you used to. Just a slow poke. Look into my eyes — are these the eyes of a wooden board?


March 22, 1997

Today I ordered a hot wet pussy-dickhead shake with eyes and tongue. “We’re all out,” says the brave young employee. “You must’ve just run out,” says I, “because I can still smell it.” “Yep, just sold the last one,” says the brave young employee. “Why don’t you make more?” asks I. At this point the manager came over. “Is there a problem?” says he. “You’re out of hot wet pussy-dickhead shakes,” says I.


March 26, 1997

Shall I put my penis on the counter? But what would it really accomplish? Would it change the world? Would it change me, or the attendant employees? No, no, and no. But should we judge an activity by whether or not it changes something? That would imply evolution as pre-determined and full of specific purpose. My penis on the counter is resistance; it demonstrates evolution’s indeterminate willfulness.


March 27, 1997

We shall swing by the Anal Ranch, pick up the Lord, and we shall have a Butt-Fuck Week-End. The Lord will have a Biggie but not a drop shall be spilled. Our faces will be dripping with hot cum and we shall notice the way muscle is. The Lord will be our Butt-Fuck Buddy and we will be the Butt-Fuck Buddies of the Lord. But do not touch the Lord’s Biggie — not ever.


June 3, 1997

I took my Frosty into the bathroom and sat it on the floor. I pulled my pants down, got down on all fours, and buried the tip of my cock in the cold brown swirl. Then I forced my cock and balls all the way into the cup, Frosty spilling on to the floor. Then I thought real sexy thoughts. My erection slowly forced more Frosty on to the floor. This is the real test of a drink’s thickness.

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