Dear Russell, Well, you’ve bloody gone and done it now, haven’t you?! I warned you countless times through our imaginary meetings and redundant blog letters that you ought not to marry that pop-tart drone and marry me! You and I both know that we connected during your stand up show, and don’t try and act like you didn’t notice me out of the thousands of people in the audience. I know you felt our true and everlasting bond transcend through the crowd. However, I am aware that you are sometimes a bit of a glutton for punishment and understand that your marriage to this wench is nothing more than a fulfilment of your sick idiosyncratic pleasures. Once you were an alcoholic, drug and sex addict and now you must marry she-who-will-not-be-named to further achieve your self-destructive rituals. It’s just a phase.
I have proposed marriage, intercourse, babies and everlasting love to you Russell, but today I propose something a little different. As your age dictates, you are past the point of change and are rather set in your ways. This is not a problem. Perhaps I could become a part of your little annihilative identity crisis? I can see the tabloids now, it’ll be just like when Jude law cheated on Sienna Miller with their nanny except I’ll do my hair and get a tan. I acknowledge and accept that you must be married to this dope for a while longer to make it seem “legitimate” and for general shock factor of the public. I think six months should do the trick and then we can indulge in said extra marital affair. This whole scenario should appeal to your abrasive character, it will also give the wanton tramp some writing material for her next album so your karma should not be affected.
As always Russell, I will be waiting.
All my love,
Your adulterous minx,
Emma.
