Dear Michael Cera,
I know that you don't know me. I know that you are a movie star. I know that of late you have become an object of lust for a growing number of females who appreciate your deadpan comic sensibilities and lanky frame. I think I heard somewhere that you have a girlfriend. I think I heard somewhere else that she was Asian, which makes me question your heterosexuality a little bit. Also, I realize that you are nineteen years old, which makes us nearly a decade apart age-wise, and makes me feel like a bit of a pedophile.
Nonetheless, I would like for you to be my boyfriend. I don't even necessarily want to shag you, though maybe I'd feel like it once we started spending quality time together, or if I had more than one vodka-soda beverage. Mostly I would like to hang out and possibly play checkers and hold hands in a cute, chaste, middle-schoolish way. I would like for you to tell me jokes and for me to tell you jokes back and for us to live in harmony together, appreciating indie rock and shopping for cardigan sweaters. Perhaps I could make you open-faced sandwiches owing to your dental problem which prevents you from opening your mouth very wide in order to accommodate a large-sized sandwich. Maybe I could have my dad look at it, since he is a dentist!
I wonder, do you like dancing to balalaika music?
It's possible that I would even be willing to move to Canada with you. I'm ready for a change of scenery anyhow. I bet it's nice up there in the fall.
Love,
Gittles
