Monday, December 29, 2008
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
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
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!