Then, once the perplexing reality sunk in, and I managed to somehow pick my jaw up off the floor, I came to this calming and tranquil awakening: the odds of ravishing Brad Pitt before I die just increased by a factor of 10... And to that I say, hate on, ladies! Judge his choices! Curse his name! Say he hasn't aged well! I'll happily be there to sweep up the pieces of his shattered self-worth and make all his anguish disappear... And because I can't stomach the thought of My Destined in pain, I have composed a letter. As a preemptive strike, if you will...
My dearest William Bradley Pitt,
In the last few days I have been informed by three separate women, on three separate occasions, that you are not the glistening, pulsating, hurt-me-now-sex-god that you once were to them. Three. Separate. Women. I for one, am appalled on your behalf... and mine. So to you I write this letter, so that you know my heart.
I will NEVER stop loving you, William Bradley Pitt.
From the moment I saw you take Carol Seaver to the movies on Growing Pains (season 3 episode 9) because you thought she was the most popular girl in school, I knew we were written in the stars. Remember how you wanted to be James Dean? Oh, you silly boy!
And then when you kicked it with super lame animation and an even super lamer hairdo in Cool World, I was there, cheering you on. Through all the abominable scripts, and poor acting. Through the films with monkeys in the title. There I was, my love. Undying, unshakable, indestructible was my affection.
And yes, I cried a little bit on the day you announced your engagement to Gwyneth. And sure, I rejoiced a little on the day you broke it off because she is a lying, cheating whore who obviously has no concept of perfection.
And perhaps there were tears, whilst I flipped through the People magazine with you and Jen in wedded bliss gracing the cover. And I may or may not have screamed "Suck it, Bitch" at Miss Aniston and laughed in evil and malicious vindication upon learning of your marriage's untimely demise. But all this, every shred, was sprung from a pure and majestic place. A place perpetually reserved for you.
And now, in the winter of your fame, as nay-sayers and ignoramuses cash out and move on. One by one turning their backs on the impeccable, exquisite, perfection that is you, the envy of Adonis himself. I once again stand beside you, proudly bellowing from the rooftops that I WILL NEVER STOP LOVING YOU, WILLIAM BRADLEY PITT!
I will require a full STD screen and blood panel post-Angelina, prior to consummating our commitment
Angelina will retain full custody of all six crumb snatchers
Wrinkle cream will be applied to your face nightly
Epic films are from hence forth forbidden, you are not good in them
Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours, Immortal Beloved,