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!

1 comment:

  1. Scottie, Will Amber Frye be there to witness the needle going in your arm? I would love to be a fly on the wall to witness the day of it happening. Make sure you don't eat too many collard before they put that long needle in your arm because i heard people shit on themselves afterward. No one should have to smell another persons shit, especially a dead one

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