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Tag Archives: fan mail

Dear Orlando,

I’m disgusted with you.

When I think of all the nights I spent huddled in a corner in my closet, crying my eyes out, clutching an empty box of KFC, well it just burns my toast.

“Ghetto booty Wanda,” they all said.  “He don’t do chubby,” they all said.  “He likes hungry blondes,” they all said.

Well, if you like hungry blondes so much, how do you explain this:

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So it’s like that, huh?  You finally admit that you like full-figured black women and you’re cheating on me already?  What kinda shit is that? 

You know I’m not one to step to another sister so maybe you ought to start thinking about how to cut her loose.  You’d better do it soon too because I’m already thinking about maybe not writing you so many letters anymore.  I might cut down to two or three times a month.  You’d like that wouldn’t you?



P.S.  So what is she anyway?  About a size 12, 14?  I can do size 14.  Just give me about six weeks, K?

Editorial note:  I wasn’t going to write to Orlando again so soon but my blog stats told me in no uncertain terms that you’d rather read this crap than hear me rant about politics.  The lunatics have spoken!


Last week, as you know, was Halloween.  One of my office peeps went to the annual parade in Greenwich Village and remarked on how many nice young men dressed up in “Dick in a Box” costumes.  I have almost no use for Justin Timberlake, but even I have to admit that sketch was funny.

(You’ve seen Dick in a Box, haven’t you?  If you haven’t, please click on the link.  Really, it’ll be important to the story later.  Go on, I’ll wait.)

As a result, I’ve lost control of my staff.  “Dick in a Box” is now the catchphrase around the office.  This is how conversations have been lately:

Me:  Didn’t I ask you to clear off your desk yesterday?

Them:  Dick in a Box!

Me:  You’re late coming back from lunch.

Them:  It’s my Dick in a Box!

No one respects my authori-tah.  OK, maybe I brought it on myself.  I did make them watch Bell Biv DeVoe and Soul For Real videos on YouTube all afternoon Friday, but that’s beside the point.

Case in point:  L.G.  Remember L.G.?  She’s the one I’ve had spearhead my campaign to find Orlando Bloom.  She’s turned out to be a major disappointment.  Every time I ask her about her progress she gives me some hooey about Jessica Simpson having him on a short leash.  That Orlando/Jessica thing was debunked weeks ago.  Does she think I’m that dumb?

I reminded her the other day that my birthday was a little over a month away and she was really going to have to get a move-on.  She swore she was on top of it, but I’ve completely lost faith in her.  It’s very sad really.

The other day I was puttering around her desk and I found the printout I had given her about sending fan mail.  One paragraph in particular caught my eye.  It said:

“If you want to request an autograph, follow the guidelines bellow. If you just want to mail a letter with the address above, and do not want anything back, then you can stop reading! If you live in USA send a properly stamped and self addressed envelope (minimum size 8.5″ x 4″) with your request letter and a photo. You can include a piece of cardboard to keep the photo from bending in shipping and also add “Do Not Bend” on the envelopes. Send your letter and wait.”

Well, it isn’t his autograph that I’m after.  Still, the spirit of the instructions were clear, and it gave me an idea.  I believe this is what the New Agers call “synchronicity.” 

So, here’s the latest package I’ve sent to Orlando.

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I fully expect to get better results from this one because, unlike the last fan letter I wrote, I actually mailed this one.

You’re probably worried that I’ve gone off the deep end and that there’s going to be a police report filed on me any minute now.  Well, you might be right about my mental state, but I signed L.G.’s name to the package.  They got nothing on me.  Besides, it’s high time someone taught that girl a lesson about insubordination.