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Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and 
credit to the original author.

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

(A True Tale From The Castro. Eat your heart out, Armistead!)

©1998 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin

Dec. 30, 1998

Dear Shit-Baby Crackhead:

I do not want to see this gift again (thong necklace with bone
whistle), that you gave your friendship turned out to
be a sham, and I already feel too humiliated to be seen
wearing anything you gave me. If you insist on returning it, I
will immediately drop it down the sewer. You can even watch me
do it. But I have a suggestion for what you can do with it:
Find some dumb-ass hetero chick (the only kind you can) to
ride your bone (if you can ever get it up again after so much
drug abuse)...then show her a real nice time by shoving this
necklace into her twot, and popping it out a few times. I'm
sure this is what your gift was really meant for--to be
slathered in cunt juice--and I only want it to find a proper

I will never call you by your real name again...only terms
like "Shit Baby", "Crackhead", "Loser", and the like. You have
violated my trust in you, and disgraced our
friendship...including vulgar comments about gays having "shit
babies". You insist you are hetero and redneck...well, I'll
play along with that. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY GAY TURF, get the
hell out of San Francisco, too. Go back to Ohio where you can
suck on your hetero mama's tits...for that is where your mouth
really belongs...not on some decent gay man's face.

You are yet another phony gay who comes to our neighborhood
and further poisons us with your crack/speed/heroin
addictions...then dump us when you're ready to "clean up your
act" and marry some stupid chick and have some abused
children, to prove your manhood. You have chosen the side of
the enemy, and I am one person you don't want to know. You
made a deadly mistake by imposing your arrogant attitude on
me. The only time I will ever use your real name is when I
recite the following poem from "The Faggot Bible":


by Ezekiel J. Krahlin

     A guy from Dayton, Ohio
       (Terry was his name)
     Came to San Francisco
       To play the drug-deal game.

     Now I'm not talkin' soft drugs
       Like 'shrooms and Mary Jane.
     I'm talkin' 'bout your hard drugs
       Like crystal, horse, co-caine.

     So Terry did his peddling,
       With death the price to pay
     For gay sisters, brothers,
       Whom he led astray.

     All this he did for vanity,
       Profit and a name,
     Killing many customers
       Or driving them insane.

     The Beast, he fine'ly raised
       his head and said:
       "Buddy, you are mine!"
     So the soul of Terry went to bed
       When came the judgment time.

     I say this as a warning
       To him, and others too:
     Switch to dealing soft drugs,
       And God shall reign His mercy
     On every one of you.