Dear Greg James

Hey, hey, do that "Flash Flash" thing.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Oh, that's great. Do it again.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Oh, man, that cracks me up. Do it again!

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Ah, grand.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

...Yeah, alright, nice one.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Yep, sure. Good.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Okay, we've heard that one now, Greg.

"FLASH, FLASH!"

Alright, do you think maybe you can FUCKING STOP NOW?

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Iglu & Hartly

This is a joke, right? It's a joke, I'm sure it is.


It must be a joke. Because if not, you've just put yourself at the forefront of the Lyte Funky Ones revival.

Daft cunts.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Agyness Deyn

Who the fuck are you, where the fuck did you come from, why the fuck are you fucking everywhere, and who the fuck gives a fuck? Although marginally preferable to that cunt Kate Moss, you're still about as kooky as The Kooks. At the risk of sounding like Arkwright from Open All Hours, you can fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuck right off, love.

Best,
Davis.

PS - Take off that T-shirt, you stupid bint. I bet you've never even heard The Cramps.

Dear Patrick Batman

Bale, sir, I really must insist that you stop this at once.

Having just sat through your utterly inexplicable performance in The Dark Knight, I feel compelled to ask: what precisely is it about that rubber suit which makes your voice drop two full octaves every time you slip it on? I'm curious to know, since I've spent half of the past two movies attempting to make out what the fuck you're saying - a laborious business which is almost as off-putting as that cunt scrunching a crisp packet for the best part of an hour two rows back from me.

While I've got your attention, do you think you can have a quiet whisper in Chris Nolan's ear? It's just that he seems to have got it into his noggin that he's making some kind of profound, weighty treatise on terrorism, vigilante justice and surveillance in the post-9/11 world instead of, y'know, a comic-book movie with explosions and stuff. I wouldn't normally whinge, but we already have Bryan Singer on hand to suck all the joy out of popcorn entertainment. By all means call him a mulleted hack, but at least Joel Schumacher had a sense of humour.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - Do you like Phil Collins? (etc, etc.)

Dear Kanye West

Tried a pair of them glasses of yours on the other day. You can't fucking see anything out of the bastards.

Take them off, you twunt. You look like a right jeb-end.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - Your faux-mockney "rap" on American Boy makes Dick Van Dyke sound like Del-Boy Trotter, and your sampling's getting well lazy. Do better.

Dear Morgan Freeman

Bummer about that car accident, dude.

I hate to state the obvious, but it looks like you've got two choices now: get busy livin', or get busy dyin'. Let's hope it's the former. You were well good in Se7en, and I always held out hope for Hard Rain 2: Hard Rain Harder.

Regards,
Davis.

Dear Jordan (sorry - 'Katie')

I was deeply saddened to hear about your enforced exclusion from a prestigious polo event. I imagine it must have been an absolutely shattering blow, a bit like finding out you've lost a loved one in combat or looking into the toilet bowl to find you're pissing blood.

However, I have to make one slight correction to your heartfelt plea for social equality. When you say that "It's pure snobbery. However good a horsewoman I am, I'm also a glamour model. That embarrassed them", I beg to differ. It's because you're an absolute fucking twat, mate.

Heartfelt regards,
Davis.