Congrats again on "Precious." What a powerful movie. But can we talk about your Saturday Night Live performance this past weekend? It felt like I was watching high school improv. Your Jamaican accent was less convincing than Miss Cleo, you broke character more times than Jimmy Fallon, and you went about the jokes with all the finesse of Seth MacFarlane delivering a Family Guy punchline.
I still love you and all, and I hope there's some sort of Precious sequel with you hooking up with Lenny Kravitz while he and Mariah Carey try to adopt you and then Whoopi Goldberg shows up with a bunch of nuns and hijinx and choir music ensue, but that SNL performance made me second guess your skills just a little bit.
Dear Medal of Honor: Frontline game:
I've been playing you for a few weeks now, just to randomly play video games again and hold on to my fleeting youth*, but I have a feeling you are creeping into my life a bit too much. I have repeatedly used the phrase "storming the beaches of Normandy" to describe everything from entering busy shopping centers to walking my dog.
I also think about good sniper look-outs in my day-to-day activities.
And I am becoming way too confident that I could have made it as a World War II soldier, when really, the fear would leave me soaked in my own urine and crying like a little girl. Unless we're talking about the Revolutionary War. In that case, I'd be one of those guys that plays the trumpet and gets people excited and then runs to the back of the line.
(* Dear Aeropostale:
It was nice while it lasted.
Dear Christina Hendricks:
I still haven't seen your show, but please continue to be famous by whatever means necessary.
Thinking of you,
An Esquire reader
P.S. Love your hair.
Dear State and Federal Tax Collector:
This might sound crazy, but could you next year create a Facebook application that lets you do your taxes? It would be so much more fun. And let people pay in, say, Farmville dollars.
Dear Guy Who Lives Above Me:
You know I can hear you when you are screaming profanities at your (ex?)girlfriend/wife on the phone, right?
Considering you like to listen to Madonna most Saturday mornings, maybe there's an underlying cause to this tension. And by Madonna, I mean deep tracks on Ray of Light Madonna.
I'll leave it at that.
Dear Stanley Tucci:
So after I figured out "The Lovely Bones" isn't about the kinship amongst Bone Thugs-'n'-Harmony members and instead is about you being a total creeper, I really liked your performance.
The only problem is (spoiler alert), I now will not be able to sleep at night, worried you are planning to rape and murder me in a cornfield after I agree to check out the underground bunker you made just for us kids.
Wait a second. You'd have to be a complete idiot to check out an underground bunker in a cornfield made by your sketchy neighbor with the combover. Phew.
At least your movie will bring to light the bunker murder epidemic that plagues today's youth.
Hugs and kisses,
Dear Blog Readers:
I've now reached 400 posts on Wild ARS Chase since I started in August 2008. Thanks for all the comments, e-mails and mostly just for stopping by.
Kittens and rainbows,
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