If, perchance, your head’s been buried under a rock, pillow or other sundry household items, than perhaps you haven’t heard: This past Tuesday night Jimmy Fallon taped his Late Night show from the UNC campus, and had, as his guest, a gentleman by the name of Barack Obama. During their time together, Barack and Jimmy slow-jammed the news. I have since watched said slow jam no fewer than 8,107, and have come to the reasonable conclusion that what ought to happen next – in addition, of course, to the extension of low interest rates on student loans! — is Barack and Jimmy joining yours truly for a threesome.

Unrealistic, you say?

Ask and ye shall receive, I say.

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That’s exactly the thing one needs milling around in her head when ambling for a threesome with men of this caliber. And so: Jimmy and Barack, I salute you! By which I mean: I wrote you a letter requesting a threesome. Let me know your thoughts and availability, and we’ll skedge a time ASAP!


Dear Barack Obama and Jimmy Fallon,


Hi! How are you! Let me start by saying: Long time fan, first time commenter. Jimmy, I fell for you back in 1999 when first you appeared as Wade in the SNL boy-band spoof, Teen Pulse.  Barack, I fell for you back in 2004 when you went all Audacity-of-Hope-y on my ass. Gentleman, all: I want to do you. But also I respect you.

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Anyhooz, I watched you both together on Jimmy’s show the other night. The fusion of your talents has all proven a bit much for this ol’ gal; the experience was like the best bit of ladies’ porn that ere I have seen! So what I’d like to suggest, should both of you prove amenable, is a threesome. You dudes and me. Or mimi as they say in Swahili. (I’m nothing if not respectful of/interested in other people’s cultural heritage. Hopefully, this numbers among the traits you’d most like to see in your threesome partner. Or threesome mpenzi as they say in Swahili.)

You’re both innovative, open-minded men in your own right, so surely the edgy exploration of two dudes and a female like myself is preferable to the clichéd predictably of either one of you shacking up with two ladies. So please: Don’t do that! Don’t be that. Be with me. I’ll be perfect, I promise. I will shower and shave and tend to both your needs equally. I will – despite my near-debilitating addiction to Chipotle burritos — avoid all varieties of beans and vegetables for the full twenty-four hours leading up to the event. I’ll be kinky, but in a manner authentic rather than disconcertingly performed. I’ll use my vibrator in a manner erotic in lieu of intimidating. I’ll do pitch perfect dirty talk. I’ll be all, like, “Legislate my lady garden, B to the A rock.” Or perhaps, “How’s about we interview my tee-tas, darling Jimmy.”

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All these things and more do I so promise you, my loves. Whaddya say? Say yes, of course! And bear in mind my mother’s favorite saying, “We don’t regret the things we do. We regret the things we don’t do.”


Ever yours and ever best,

Sara B.


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