Wesley!

First this, now this. Look, Wes, we care about you, no shit. We're from the same town. Brotherly love, bro. You've run amuck, and we need to get you back on track. So, we contacted an old friend of yours for some assistance in the matter. We received this hand-written reply from him within a week:

Dear Masters T.P.O.,

I cannot express in words my gratitude for how much you care about my Wesley. I fondlingly remember all those nights that Wesley and I would stay up late and talk about the most important of issues, like AIDS and... But yes, being impotent, my darkest secret, I always cared for the Owens children as though they were my own. It was very difficult for me to read your catalogue of my Wesley's recent exploits. I have failed him so very much. The only persuasion toward upstanding life that I can offer to my beloved little one you will find enclosed. Please, masters, make sure it reaches him.

Humbly Yours,
Mr. Lynn Belvedere

Here it is, Wes:

My dearest, lovely, most tender, Wesley:

You know how crude I find the mincing of words, Wes, so straight to the heart of the matter. I strongly object to the company that you're keeping and the music that you're producing. Wes, where did you meet such people,





the heart of darkness?

And making music that encourages such filthy, slutty behavior



(Cheering a young woman for moving her bowels in public? What is this world coming to?) are we? You need to come home to Daddy, Wes. Right this instant, young man!