Friday, May 8, 2009

Dear Scott

Dude, you need to move on. It's not healthy to live in the past. What’s up with the ex-wife’s photo hanging on your wall? It’s right there in People Magazine so it must be true. A reputable rag like that would never make something up. Don't you find me attractive enough to proudly display in your prison cell? I sent you a scantily clad photo of myself that proves I'm the spitting image of Angelina Jolie, and much hotter than your murdered spouse. Your deceased better half was definitely not "all that." It should be me up there, your current heartthrob and soon-to-be famous supermodel, not the former domestic partner that you did in. My best friend thinks the fact that you’re still hung-up on your ex is a huge red flag that you’re not boyfriend material, because you’d be unable to commit. She can be like so totally negative. “Well,” I told her, “the good news is that he knocked her off, which means he knew his needs weren’t being met. She was obviously not the right woman for him. At least he was mature enough to end such an unhappy relationship sooner rather than later to avoid prolonging the agony for both of them." I sure set that know-it-all straight. But hey, I’m not worried. Once you accept that many marriages fail and you have nothing to feel guilty about, and more importantly, that it was me all along who is the love of your life, that outdated photo of Laci will finally come down. When you’re ready.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Dear Scott

Congratulations on making People Magazine yet again! It's a shame your handsome mug wasn't on the cover, but you've appeared in those pages more times than any other murderer by now, and that's totally awesome. Well done! This will finally prove to my best friend who insists the dead serial killer she still has the hots for, Ted Bundy, was more famous and photogenic than you that she's speaking out of her asshole. Rock on!
Sitting in a 4-by-9-foot cell on San Quentin's Death Row, Scott Peterson doesn't have a lot of choices in life, but he can decide how to decorate his wall.

While many cons plaster their cells with pictorial collages, Peterson has only one photo hanging across from his bunk: a smiling shot of him and his wife, Laci.

Peterson, 36, was sentenced to death by lethal injection in March of 2005 after being convicted of murdering Laci and their unborn son, Conner, and tossing them in the San Francisco Bay on Christmas Eve day of 2002. His case is on appeal, which means he isn't likely to face execution for two decades.

Peterson now spends five hours a day shooting hoops, doing pull-ups and playing cards with other inmates like William Noguera, a prison artist who was convicted of murder for financial gain in 1983. "There are a group of guys that he hangs with," Robinson tells PEOPLE, "but it's not anyone of any (criminal) notoriety."

Robinson says Peterson still gets regular visits – several each month – from family and friends. He also receives numerous letters from female admirers who send him checks for his commissary account. "He has a significant amount of money in his account from people all over the world," says Robinson. Peterson can spend $180 a month on items such as soda, candy, cookies, toothpaste and deodorant.

Despite being locked in a cell for 19 hours a day, Robinson believes Peterson has adjusted well to his confinement. "You're still able to forge relationships with people who live around you and you try to make the most of your condition," says Robinson. "I think that's what Scotty is doing."

Friday, April 17, 2009

Dear Scott

Hey, you! So I figured out how we can finally be together. Right now I'm living in Canton, Ohio and waitressing at Denny's, saving my tips to pay for modeling headshots. The only thing holding me back from moving to New York City and pursuing my dream of becoming a famous supermodel is my mom.  See, since OJ stopped writing her back, she's been kind of down. I think she's worried that becoming a famous celebrity like you are will go to my head, and I'll abandon her. So I came up with this great plan to cure her loneliness: fix her up with media darling, Drew Peterson!  Awesome plan, right? Okay, he's not as famous a wife killer as you are which is definitely a drawback, but hopefully, that will change one day, since he's already been on TV lots of times, including The Larry King Show. And even though he isn't a hottie, he has those distinguished good looks that my mom goes apeshit for. But most importantly, he shares your beautiful last name. How special is that? It's totally awesome! To me, that's a sign from the Universe that my mom and him are meant to be together, just like we are, and I can't wait until the four of us double date! I found out where Drew lives, and she already sent off her first letter. She was a little nervous, since she hadn't written a murderer since her OJ days and understandably felt out of practice, but fortunately, expressing innermost feelings to hardened criminals is like riding a bicycle and came right back to her. Cross your fingers that he answers her soon, okay? Because when those two hook-up, then I'll be free to move to New York City to become a famous supermodel, and when the big bucks start rolling in, I'll immediately fly out to California to be with you! Oh, and best of all, Drew is single like you are. Both my mom and I believe that it's wrong to date married men. 

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Dear Scott

I'm not mad just disappointed. Why haven't you written back? I mean, I know that you're busier than a bee on Death Row protecting yourself from other inmates who think you're a hottie like I do, and are trying to have sex with you up the butthole, but could you take a time-out to let me know if you've received my letters? I sure would appreciate it! I also sent you a care package with a metal nail file hidden inside a Twinkie, and hope the prison guards didn't steal that delicious snack food for themselves. Oh, and fancy stationary isn't necessary, even a word or two hurriedly scribbled on a piece of toilet paper would suit me just fine. And I promise I won't sell it to the National Enquirer, even though I could definitely use the money for modeling headshots, I would never exploit our relationship like that.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Dear Scott

I told my boyfriend about us. It was after I gave him a BJ in the stockroom at Denny's where we work. I give awesome head, and thought it would be nice of me to put him in a good mood by sucking him off before breaking the bad news that my heart belongs to another. Better he hear it from yours truly rather than discover that we're an item from People Magazine or Entertainment Tonight. After I made him cum, I simply said, "I met someone." Okay, maybe I haven't actually had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but I've been following your career on TV and in the tabloids ever since your spouse went missing so it feels like you're an old pal, and since we're soul mates, I'm sure we were lovers in several past lifetimes, and go way back. I added, "These things happen, it's nobody's fault," so he wouldn't blame himself. I was just trying to let him down easy. And he started laughing so hard I thought he was gonna pee on himself, I swear to God! He said, "In your dreams, you stupid bitch. Which unattainable celebrity is it this week?" Don't worry, I was discreet. I don't think the fact that you're a famous incarcerated wife killer is any of his beeswax, do you? Plus, it would hurt him too much to learn that you've been on tons of magazine covers and are more in the limelight than he'll ever be, especially since he wasn't blessed with the same supermodel good looks we were that would have been his ticket out of Canton, Ohio, and that's why the loser will be stuck slinging burgers at Denny's for the rest of his friggin' life! Also, he never tells me who he hooks-up with, so why should I tell him? Instead I find out through my BFF who sends me photos of him naked with a big boner from his latest fuck's Facebook page. So fair's fair. But at least now our relationship is out in the open, and we don't have to sneak around behind my boyfriend's back. Kewl!

Monday, March 16, 2009

Dear Scott

OMG! I just took the bus from Ohio to audition for America's Next Top Model, and check-out what happened to me while waiting in line! I'm the hottie wearing the pink tube top who is running for her life!

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Dear Scott

I was wondering if the reason you haven't written back is because I neglected to send a photo. So here it is. Hope you find me hot enough to hang on your cell wall and jerk-off to! Do you think I could be a supermodel? Sorry I look a little bloated, but it was that time of the month. Since I learned from Access Hollywood that there are lots of other girls who are also sending love letters and marriage proposals to you on death row, my fingers are crossed that this recent photo will help me stand out from the competition. As you can see, I'm far from your usual type, plain Janes with no sex appeal like your murdered mousey wife and trampy mistress, and I could help you overcome your lousy taste in women if you give me a chance. And by the way, unlike those two unattractive ladies, my tits are real! ROFL! We'd make an awesome looking couple, especially since you're the spitting image of that other cutie patootie, Brad Pitt, and I can't wait to see us featured in People Magazine after we hit the town together. Look forward to hearing from you soon. Oh, and happy fisting your mister!

Friday, February 6, 2009

Dear Scott

Don't feel hurt that my BFF (Best Friend Forever) thinks Ted Bundy is hotter than you. As usual regarding the male sex, she is speaking out of her butthole! Me, I would never hook-up with some dude who is responsible for bumping off thirty-six bitches, no matter how cute he is! To me, it would be a red flag that he's commitment phobic. Also, if a guy has unconsensual sex with that many women, the chances of his current fuck buddy catching a nasty STD are greatly increased. My BFF is still stuck in her bad boy phase, which is so pathetic! I pointed this out to her last night while we were sharing a plate of nachos at the food court in the mall. I go, "You always pick unavailable men who are way beneath you. I think you can do better." I was just trying to be a helpful, supportive BFF. But predictably, she got all bent out of shape and defensive, accusing me of slumming by falling for you! I shot back, "Well, Scott Peterson may or may not have killed his wife, but it's not like he went around slaughtering total strangers, like lizard brain Ted Bundy did. That is so lame!" She goes, "It was sweet of him to only choose victims he didn't know, that way they couldn't take it personally and their feelings wouldn't get hurt." Oh, puleeze! The real reason behind my BFF's sudden infatuation with history's most notorious serial killer? She has always been extremely competitive, and constantly tries to one-up me. After I told her that I'd be auditioning for the television show, America's Next Top Model, she decided to do the same, even though she never showed any interest in becoming a supermodel before, and for good reason, she wasn't blessed with a supermodel's gorgeous face and perfect body, like I was. And as soon as she discovered that I had a major crush on you, the handsomest, most famous murderer on death row, the copy cat announced out-of-the-blue that her heart belongs to Ted Bundy! Gimme a friggin' break! I swear, the girl can't think for herself! Plus, why couldn't she do a simple Google search and at least find a murderer to lust after who's still alive? Hello? How does she expect her love letters to reach him when he's six feet under? Just between you and me, I really think my BFF needs to see a shrink about her lousy taste in men. 

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Dear Scott

Let's just say for argument's sake that you knocked off your wife. I'm not saying you did, this is just for fun, so play along, okay? The way I look at it as a women's libber (don't worry, I don't have hairy legs or wear Birkenstocks! LOL!), if Laci never bothered to take swimming lessons, then she should accept full responsibility for drowning. Duh! Would it have been too much trouble for Miss High and Mighty to get off her lazy butt and learn the basic crawl stroke at the local YMCA? I saw her photo in People magazine, and the poor girl was a real tubby which would have caused her to sink to the bottom of the lake faster than a stone, so she has only herself to blame for all that extra weight. Dude, it's not your fault she refused to diet and exercise! I'm a hottie who's in awesome shape (36-24-36), and would have easily made it back to shore (wait till you see me in my smokin' string bikini)! And even though I can't swim for shit, at least I sort of know how to dog paddle, which is more than I can say for your codependent, deceased Missus! That's the main difference between Laci and myself: I'm going to be a supermodel who will always have the wherewithal to save my own ass if one of my hot-tempered fuck buddies becomes jealous of my crush on you and decides to do me in. Sheesh! It's not rocket science! You need a strong, take-charge gal like me in your life, not some passive bimbo who doesn't have the brains or skill to keep her empty head above water. My point is, the fairer sex is never going to achieve equality in the world if we don't stop waiting around for men to rescue us. We are women, hear us roar!  

Monday, December 29, 2008

Dear Scott

I'm not saying I'm happy your wife, Laci, turned-up dead or anything, just that something good can come out of even supposedly negative situations, right? I'm basically a very positive person who always chooses to see the glass as half-full. Sure, it's pretty sad that she's six feet under, but what about my needs? If your spouse hadn't gone missing, you never would have become an overnight media sensation, and without that sexy face splashed all over the news, how would I have discovered that a cutie patootie such as yourself even exists, and decide to be your pen pal? It's not like we travel in the same circles, and unless you hang out at the mall in downtown Canton, Ohio, there's no way in hell our paths would have ever crossed, which totally sucks. It's awesome that you've come into my life, and I'm grateful to the Universe for each and every event that led to this friggin' miracle! Do you believe in love at first sight? I do, because the moment I saw you on TV, I knew I'd found my soul mate. I'm just sharing my feelings, which will hopefully encourage you to do the same, since that's what healthy relationships are all about (according to my idol, Oprah). So I hope you're not threatened by me making the first move! I had been watching the show, "The Bachelor," and was channel surfing during a commercial break, and there you were, the hottest hunk I'd ever seen, giving an interview to a local news station about the disappearance of Laci. At first I thought you were too good-looking to be an actual, real-life wife slayer, and assumed you must be an actor or supermodel who might be willing to help me become a celebrity myself. But that's okay, I still want to do the horizontal polka even though you don't have a career in the entertainment business. I don't give a flying fuck what some dude who I already decided to hook-up with does for a living, unlike my BFF, who has no scruples and is a freakin' gold digger! What's important to me is that your heart is in the right place. You rock!

Friday, December 26, 2008

Dear Scott

I like you for you. I'm no star fucker, unlike the skanky sluts you're undoubtedly getting swamped with love letters from who are total users. Don't come crying to me later and say I didn't warn you! Trust me, once you're out of the limelight and no longer a household name, these opportunists won't want anything further to do with you, they'll bang you then coldly toss you aside, like yesterday's news. Me? I'd want to hook-up even if you were still a nobody without blood on your hands who never appeared on the cover of People Magazine (it's beautifully framed, and sits on my nightstand), wasn't featured on Entertainment Tonight an awesome 48(!) times, and I didn't recently learn that my mom is considering writing a love letter to you herself, which is no big surprise, since that jealous bitch has tried to steal all my other boyfriends after O.J. stopped writing her back. I'm going to be a famous supermodel, so I don't need to ride the coattails of some incarcerated wife killer just to jump start my own career that is already in the bag! Oh, puleeze! On the other hand, since I'm sure you pal around with a lot of bigwigs who have show biz connections, if you could arrange a few interviews for me at the top modeling and acting agencies, that would be sweet! And to show my appreciation, you'll receive a smokin' hot, personally delivered "thank you" gift. Fingers crossed you're allowed conjugal visits! ROFLMAO!

Monday, December 22, 2008

Dear Scott

Wanna hook-up? LOL! Got your attention? Kewl! I just wanted to write you on Death Row to say hi and that I know you didn't do it. Kill your preggers wife, Laci, and your unborn son, Conner (lame name, by the way), and dump her body off your boat into the Pacific Ocean, that is. Ummm...I know breaking up is hard to do, but brutally murdering your spouse on Christmas Eve is so not your style! The others don't understand you like I do. And I'm not just feeding you some BS lines to cheer you up while you're locked in solitary confinement until they fry you alive on pay-per-view to get inside your pants (although don't get me wrong, I would never kick a cutie patootie such as yourself out of the sack. LOL!), you really do have a BFF in your corner with me. Feel better now? My own BFF always asks how I can be so sure you're innocent. I tell her that's a lame question and to shut the fuck up. Like everything else I know I'm right about, I just do, that's how. Sheesh! It's so totally obvious to anybody with a brain in their head. She'll pretty much offer a BJ to any piece of trash that hits on her at the food court in the mall, so she should talk. All anybody has to do is watch the interview you gave that bottle blonde Diane Sawyer to know you couldn't hurt a fly. Hell, you were crying real tears about your missing wife on live TV, both my mom and I witnessed it as one or two trickled down your left cheek with our own eyes. That was awesome. I mean, are people freakin' blind, or what? You can't fake that shit! It's kewl how you're so in touch with your feelings. You are that rare breed today: a manly man who is emotionally available and isn't afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve. And talk about photogenic! Well, no wonder, with such friggin fierce bone structure. Dude, seriously, you put that total hottie Donny Osmond to shame. If your fertilizer business doesn't work out, I bet you could have a successful career as a supermodel, like I'm going to do. It sure is reassuring in this sucky economy that no matter how bad things get, you and I will always have our good looks to fall back on. My mom and I rarely agree on anything in the guy department, but we both would get really excited every time you were on TV, taped each appearance, and by now we must have watched each of them hundreds of times with take-out dinner from KFC and buttered rolls. Our all-time favorites are the interviews where you look so adorable with that little pout while you're whining that you're innocent, and, of course, your trial (loved the beard, by the way). My mom finally admitted that she thinks you're a hottie, too, except she claims you can't hold a candle to O.J. WTF? Her taste in dudes has always been so gross, and I told her that to her face! I never thought O.J. was all that, and some nights we'd argue about which one of you is hotter until the wee hours of the morning. But it's still quite a compliment coming from her, because she was like so totally obsessed with the O.J. trial and his life afterwards, even writing him love letters in care of that golf course in Florida, until one day my dad couldn't take it anymore, packed-up and left. But don't you worry.  I told my mom, "Hands off, bitch, Scottie is mine!" LMAO!