Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Draft #209
Robert's Got a Crush
Yes it's true, I'm in love. Unfortunately for yours truly, the girl I love doesn't even know I exist. Her name is Kristen Wiig and she works in New York. She's about nine years older than I am and can be seen on T.V. on Saturday nights on some show called SNL. I've grown quite fond of this fair maiden and I figured it was about time I made my feelings known to her. So like any gentleman, I decided to email her eventhough we've never met.
Here is a copy of that email:
Dear Kristen,
Hi, my name is Barry (I'm obviously not going to tell her my real name, it's so damn boring. Besides Barry sounds like a more approachable person, Bob sounds like the guy that fired your dad and put your whole family out into the streets, you know, a real asshole) and I'm writing you today in hopes that you find me to be a charming fellow and someday decide to become my wife. Alright, maybe not my wife, but definitely a girl I could call up from time to time for a random boning. I'd be open to more than just boning, but would prefer that boning be a prevelent part of our relationship equation.
Now I know what you must be thinking, who is this Barry fellow? Well allow me to introduce myself. I'm a 26 year old butcher (Trust me, women love men who know how to handle their meat. It drives them focking insane. If I told her the truth and said I was a switchboard operator she'd piss herself laughing so damn hard and delete the email as her head slammed into the keyboard on her way to the ground to assume the fetal laughing position) currently residing in good old Wisconsin. While some might say that Wisconsin is nothing more than a frozen shithole covered in mosquitos, I've found that it can be a very enchanting place to live and reproduce.
But enough about me, how are things going in New York? I have to admit, you are a knock out, not quite a 10, but definitely a solid 8. If you lived in Wisconsin you'd be a freakin queen compared to all the massive cows roaming this state. I know this doesn't make a lot of sense, but just from watching you on television I can tell that you smell good, like a cross between a bushel of peaches and a freshly cut two-by-four. And that sense of humor of yours! You're as funny as an alley cat! How do you not have a boyfriend? You must be a bad cook or something? Or maybe you have hairy legs? Whatever your malfunction, I'm sure it's nothing a quarter jug of whiskey couldn't cure.
Enclosed is a case of root beer, a wheel of cheese, and an entire pork shoulder. I hope you find these flavors of the Midwest to be most delectable and that you'll think of me while consuming them whether it is with friends or alone in your apartment. And please don't have one of your fan club representatives write back to me with some generic response that is sent to every Johnny Average because the last time I checked, there wasn't a whole lot of disease free men with a steady job roaming the planet. So if you could, please give "us" a chance, you never know, it might end up being your best move yet.
With warm regards,
Barry
I'm fairly confident this email is the spark that will ignite the flame of passion. Either that, or it will serve as the stepping stone to my very first restraining order.......only time will tell I guess.
# posted by hucklebuck @ 12:02 PM 
