Saturday, 12 June 2010

Dear Anne Hathaway

I don't want to seem impertinent, but I'm afraid the situation has reached a critical juncture and can progress this way no further.

I've got a saucepan full of love for you, and it's at boiling point. I'd like to have you lay me on the floor, slather your body in warm honey and use me as your Twister mat. I'd like to loll over your love-cherry in 25 different languages - including Arabic - paying special attention to the most liquid and lascivious of lexica. 'Mississippi', I'd spell out. 'Mississippi'. Frankly, there is nothing in this world that the thought of you hawking your luscious lips over my throbbing protuberance and treating it like a Calippo couldn't fix.

You are All the King's Men writ large, and I sincerely hope you hear my plea. I have savings and can pay, if that's any incentive...?

Loin-scorching regards,