I’m not quite sure how this ended up in my inbox, but I figure I’ll do my part to get it to its intended recipient.
It’s been a long time. I know I’ve been busy what with the wife and three girls back home, but it feels like you’re not even trying anymore. Don’t give me that face — you used to have a cardboard cut-out of me hanging around your place; you’d talk about me and my movies, you’d actually watch some of them on occasion, and my God, all the endless giggling about my boyish charm and “The Grin”, whatever that is. You know what? I miss it.
I admit, I should have been more responsive. I guess maybe that’s what this is. A guy gets pretty bogged down in a house with four women, you know? I think it’s time for a little escape, a little you and me time. You’ve been married what, two years now? Come on babe, it’s your birthday: let loose. If freakin’ Kimmel’s girl can do it, surely you’re not going to back down? We don’t even need to put it on tape (although, if you want to… I mean, I’m just saying… memories…)
Alright, let’s get to the point here.
It is high time that you were rescued from your urban madhouse existence, so get off your luscious vixen ass and call me. Time’s a-wastin’.
p.s. I’m serious here. Do you want this to be a happy birthday or not?
p.p.s Tell Rick there’s no hard feelings, right? And what’s this I hear about you moonlighting with Ben? What kind of twisted transference shit is that? Call me — I got your transference dyad right here.
(Happy Birthday chan! Go do something fun!)