Dear Ms. Lane,
I am hoping you can send this note to Megan Fox.
For years I have been down on my luck. After getting out of prison, the trailer hitch business my brother and I started failed, and my hopes moving out of Mom’s trailer were dashed. I was feeling so low that I actually considered dealing meth again.
Then Mom’s black neighbor introduced me to this book called “The Secret.” The author tells you how to get what you want by wishing for it real hard. I first wished for a job at the meatpacking plant. It took a while, but after the Feds rounded up all the illegal Mexicans from the place, they were practically giving jobs away. I now work five graveyard shifts each week cutting meat and should have my restitution paid off by next year. That next slab of tasty ribs you enjoy may have been cut by me!
Figuring that success breeds success, I started wishing for my next thing – that Megan Fox would live with me and be my wife. I even made a collage of Ms. Fox’s pictures to help me in the wishing process. (For the record, I only masturbate to the collage about half of the times that I’m wishing for her to marry me.)
The way I see it, with Ms. Fox as my wife, we could use her Hollywood money to move out of Mom’s trailer into our own double-wide with a deck and satellite TV where the naked tit channels aren’t scrambled. Then we’d start having kids. With Ms. Fox’s good looks, I’m sure our kids would win all those Little Miss beauty contests.
Please reply to this letter and help fulfill Ms. Fox’s destiny.
Sincerely,
Wayne Doober
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