Dear Pre-School Teacher,
As much as it might have looked as if I had untoward, Neverlandian intentions when I dug doggedly down the front of my pants a mere three feet from two dozen toddlers, I assure you I was only adjusting my boxer shorts at, per usual, the most inappropriate moment. If makes you feel any better, I am so oblivious to my surroundings I would masturbate in front of the Queen and not notice.
Recently, I have been far too busy drinking hobo wine from the bottle in front of the television to even consider doing laundry (or showering). I’ve been forced to start pulling the 11th and 12th men from my sartorial bench and throwing them in the game. As much as I would like to say a penis this massive cannot comfortably fit in boxer shorts made for white people, the truth is my thighs have swollen to Mark Henry proportions, resulting in the legs rolling up to cut off circulation to my choda.
In the interest of my legal defense should you have sprinted to the phone as quickly as it appeared you were set to do, I pray my lawyer will submit this post as an exhibit for my defense.