My best friend, you have been there for me in good times and in bad. In times when I have had everything I could ever want, and times when I had nothing but the polyester shirt on my back and the very tight trousers on my ass. Oh, and my chukkas.
My best friend, you are the one to whom I can turn when I am in need. You do not judge me, you do not make fun of me and you have never ever failed to satisfy me. My only regret I have ever had with you has been not being able to have enough of you.
My best friend, you and I found each other on the day I arrived in America. You welcomed me and showed me a pleasure I had never before experienced. And even when my host parents told me that you were a bad, evil thing and would never be allowed in their house, you were my secret friend, and you kept me from going mad. You are not a sin, my best friend, not when you feel so good.
My best friend, you gave me comfort on the long, lonely Wisconsin nights when I did not have a girlfriend with whom I could do it. The many, many, very long and very lonely Wisconsin nights. I could not have made it without you, even if my other friends warned me that perhaps too much of you would make it difficult to get dates.
My best friend, I turned to you when Big Rhonda dumped me. I turned to you when Nina dumped me. I turned to you whenever I could, even when I had to sneak into the bathroom to enjoy you. Which I usually had to do, even when I was visiting people's houses. (Sorry, Eric's house. Sorry, Donna's house. Sorry, Eric and Donna's disgusting trailer.)
My best friend, when I am old and gray and still very hungry and horny, when I am unable to do anything about it, there will still be you.
Thank you, my best friend.
Thank you, candy.
What? What did you expect me to be writing about?