Dear George Clooney,
Um, excuse us, Mister Clooney? We’re sorry to bother you, but could we please have a couple of moments with you, sir? We’ll keep it brief. Promise.
Knock it off, George! We’re not joshing around here. Every girlfriend and wife of ours wants to meet, have sex, enjoy some drinks, and have sex with you – and that was long before you won that damned Oscar!
Your life, George – it’s beyond ridiculous. First you do that show with Noah Wylie and the blood, and just when we hope you’ll slip off into TV Land oblivion, you go on to become the biggest movie star of the last 15 years! Out of Sight, Ocean’s 11, and Syriana? Fantastic Mr. Fox, Good Night and Good Luck, and Up in the Air? Are you fucking kidding?! Can’t you mix in a flick by Michael Bay, or agree to work with Rob Schneider?
On top of all that, you then further prove your integrity by trying to help those kind people in Darfur. Can’t you at least go on TMZ and tell the world that you voted for “W”? Or that you hate Methodists.
If we lesser men have to listen to any more chit-chat from our better-halves about what a dreamy, hunky, sexy, wealthy, politically-minded man’s man you are, well, then we’re going to jump on our motorcycles and ride off into the Malibu sunse–shit! You and your circle-of-friends ALREADY DO THAT ON WEEKENDS!!
You know what? Forget it. We give up. Take our women, George Clooney. They’re already yours’ mentally and emotionally anyway. We’ll be in the corner in the fetal position, crying, and watching some dogshit DVD by Michael Bay.
No salutation for you – (prick!)
Mere Mortal Men