To the lonely widow at the top of the stairs,

I choose not to push you.

Signed,

Your Son.

Zig-Zag and Betsy were reading The Hobbit to each other by the light of a small campfire next to a lake. This lake had only recently been discovered by a wayward merchant from the Dutch East India Company. The merchant had been searching for natives and their spices. The spices were thought to have great healing powers. The natives were valued for their penis bones, which were considered a delicacy among the rich and powerful of a near-by city.

Zig-Zag looked at Betsy and remarked that he liked her hair. Betsy liked Zig-Zag's skunk stripe.
The rustle of the thicket was enough to drive them, fully clothed, into the lake. From the water they would watch three teenage boys burst from the bushes completely naked screaming about the Mental Holocaust and their lingering feelings about ingesting each others cum bubbles.

The next day, Zig-Zag would awake to a note from Betsy:

"Dear Jerry,

You missed your chance. Those kids got me thinking about a cock sucking trip down South that I've always wanted to take. They got me thinking about Marriage, Money, Power, and Pain. If you're ever near Atlanta, look me up and we'll sniff glue and give each other handjobs.

Love,

Betsy."