Here it is: My very hilarious fan letter. I tried to tone it down…I mean, saying “I think you’re hot and I just want to fuck your god damn brains out” would have been overkill…right? Right?
Xxxxxx Xxxxx – Name (online alias)
Xxxxxxxxxxxx – Address line 1
Xxxxxxxxxxxx – Address line 2
Xxxxxxxxxxxx – City, State, zip
xxx-xxx-xxxx – Phone number
First let me apologize for typing this instead of writing it; it’s so impersonal this way. I’m a bit of a computer geek so this is the arena I feel most comfortable in and if you actually saw my handwriting (see envelope), you would not be able to read it. I spend time perusing your IMDB board now and then and I heard through the grapevine that you might be in need of some literary entertainment…so here I am, the answer to your prayers. Went honey, you’re gorgeous and I can’t get enough of looking at you whenever I can. You give off this vibe that is intelligent and sophisticated (almost to the point of being intimidating) but sexy as hell, no wonder you don’t get a lot of the “here are a pair of my panties” letters; I’d imagine the ladies are afraid of you. There’s a bad boy in there somewhere though. You are not fooling me ONE bit Mr. Gemini (yes I’m into Astrology, no I don’t put all of my faith in it and I am AWARE that it makes me weird). You are my screensaver, my wallpaper, I devoted a whole Friendster photo album on my blog to your loveliness and your handsome image even haunts my dreams. In them, I kiss and lick every part of you…especially the part that just wouldn’t seem to peek out of those boxers in “Odd Man Out” no matter how much I wished and wished for a wardrobe malfunction. Whenever you are portraying pain and anguish on screen, I completely believe you, so you’re more than just a pretty face and if your acting career ever goes down the toilet, you should do us all a favor and become a voice actor because I could listen to you talk ALL day (in fact, in my dreams you ARE talking during…well, you know). But alas, in real life, you and I could never be because I’ll probably never meet you. I love you Wenty-Poo, but I’m not going to run all over the country looking for you! Now if you somehow crossed my path or we happened to be in the same city at the same time…that’s different. You will know it’s me because I will get on my knees and ask to worship at the temple of Wentworth and receive the pleasure between his majestys’ legs.
P.S. If all of this just grossed you out because you are (as some rumors like to imply) in fact gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), not only is that your business, but that’s fine with me too. I’d still sleep with you anyway if you ever needed a change of pace or I’d be your faghag and masturbate to you in secret, either one. You know the gay rumors mean you have arrived right…Congratulations!
P.P.S. I hope you didn’t grammatically dissect this letter TOO much while you were reading it. I know I tend to get a little happy with a comma. If you’re ever in Baltimore, I’d be more than happy to let you show me where to put it, the comma and your manhood. Just please, if you want to surprise me (and I know you are DYING to meet me after this letter), please don’t pull an Oprah or a Publishers’ Clearing House and just show up on a bad hair day or when my apartment is a pig sty…Give a girl a day or so to prepare would you? If nothing else, I hope I made you (and/or your people) laugh and oh yeah, I love you in Prison Break. Good luck with your acting career!
Your Imaginary Love Slave,
(That’s pronounced Xxxxx; you’ll need that info for when you call me)