A Letter to Penthouse from Death Row

I never believed this could happen to me.

Susie Lovett was 18 years old.  She had just been elected prom queen, which came as a surprise to no one.  Every boy at the high school (and a few of the girls *ahem*) had a mad crush on her.  She broke a lot of hearts when she agreed to be the star quarterback's date to the formal.

What chance did I have with her?  I was just a lowly middle-aged school janitor with a harelip.

I'd had my eye on her since her freshman year.  During that time, she had filled out a little bit but was the same sweet little girl deep down.  I liked the way she would pass by me in the hallway when I was pushing my broom and say, "How's tricks, Lippy?"  I hated it when the other kids called me that but when she did it, it made me feel special.

Soon she would be gone from my life forever, breaking even more hearts at that fancy community college she was going to.  I decided that prom night was when I would become king for the queen.

My pickup truck was parked on the side of the road and I stood next to it as the quarterback's car approached.

He pulled up alongside me, rolled down his window, and asked, "What's the matter, Lippy?  Did you run out of gas?"

I answered him with a load of buckshot from my sawed-off shotgun pointblank in his face.  The big jock stud didn't look so handsome now and would never throw another touchdown pass, LOL.

It was lucky that the corsage in the passenger seat was protected from his blood by its plastic case because girls like flowers.  I pulled the quarterback's body out onto the road and drove off in his car to pick up my date.

She lived in a nice house and I bet her parents were nice too.  I never did get the chance to find out though.  When her father answered the door, I saw what I thought was a gun in his hand.  I like to be better safe than sorry so I fired a shot that cut through his wrist.  The blast sent a severed hand and a TV remote skidding across the floor.

Since it looked like I had not yet disarmed him, I pressed the shotgun against his heart and unloaded the other barrel.  After that, it didn't matter whether he was carrying a weapon or not.

Susie's mother was yelling something awful.  I ran up and smacked her upside her head with my smoking 12-gauge.  She hit the floor but wouldn't shut up.  I asked her to pipe down while I reloaded (I even said "please" and "ma'am") but she didn't so I kicked her in the stomach until all she could do was wheeze.

It was at that moment I saw Susie, looking ever so deserving of her queenly title in her prom dress.  I think she was trying to scream but nothing came out.  A delicate little flower like her was not used to all this racket so to muffle the noise, I made sure to shove the end of the shotgun snugly up her mother's skirt before I pulled the trigger.

Susie didn't move and her mouth continued to hang open, just begging for a kiss.  I came up to her and pressed my mouth against hers.  When I held the side of the shotgun against her throat and pushed, she gave me some tongue as well.

It's not every day a guy like me gets to French kiss a prom queen.  The more the double barrels pressed against her windpipe, the farther her tongue stuck out.  It was hot.

After I had my fill, I loosened my grip.  She slid to the floor, eyes wide open and not breathing.  Our makeout session had tuckered her out.

I just finished pinning the corsage on her when the police came through the door.

So here I sit here on death row, looking forward to the day I when I can join Susie in heaven.  I can hardly wait.

Yours Truly,

Harold "Lippy" Munk
San Quentin