Transferring affections/obsessions from one fandom to another...
My daughter has taken great delight in the fact that I spend far too much time on LOTR. She used to roll her eyes at my X-Files/Fox Mulder/David Duchovny fixation, but she's getting even more mileage out of this new fandom. Of course, she also aids and abets it, as she gave me the extended FOTR DVD for my birthday (bookends and all), along with an Aragorn action figure and a LOTR birthday cake. We're actually fellow geeks, and whenever I visit her at university in Montreal, we visit the various sci-fi shops and add to our action figure collections. (Me = several Sam and Frodos, Aragorn and Gandalf; She = two Legolases, Eomer and and Elven warrior).
All this to say, for the last few years she has delighted in creating several wonderful cards ostensibly from Mr. Duchovny for special occasions (birthday, Valentine, Easter, Mother's Day, Christmas, etc). This year, she took as her theme Mr. Duchovny's hurt feelings at being abandoned, and these are the result. Note there are several X-Files, Very Secret Diaries, badfic and slash references.
A Valentine card, in which DD takes Aragorn and Legolas hostage:
Front cover:
Happy Valentine's Day Anne from David
Back cover:
1. Photograph of Legolas (behind bars). Caption: "Here's a picture of Legolas behind bars (manaical laughter). As per usual, he is trying to look wise, important and ethereal. Fails miserably if you ask me."
2. Photograph of Aragorn with sword. Caption: "And of course the so-called MANLY Aragorn. I feel this picture requires very little explanation... Aragorn and his sword (well, one of his swords, although in my opinion this one is by far the most impressive...)"
3. Photograph of David Duchovny, looking very cool, with ankle tattoo showing. Caption: "Thought I'd REMIND you what I look like (yes, that WAS bitterness)! Have a Happy Valentine's Day and hurry with your reply... Aragorn keeps telling me he'll show me his if I show him mine - am starting to suspect he does NOT mean tattoos!"
Inside text:
Dearest Anne,
It has been brought to my attention (via a reliable source *ahem* your daughter) that you have transferred your affections from myself to no less than TWO other men by the names of Aragorn and Legolas! All I can say is JUDAS! After I have given you seven wonderful seasons of X-Files - ALL FOR YOU, ANNE - you have betrayed me! I only stayed in Vancouver (god-forsaken, rain-soaked city that it is) as long as I did for YOU... and how do you repay this dedication? As soon as the show goes downhill and eventually (and thankfully) ends, you turn tail and run. TRAITOR! And for what? A greasy STILL-NOT-KING whiner and a nancy OH-LOOK-AT-ME-WALK-ON-SNOW blonde bimbo! I am disappointed in you, Anne. I have great psychological depth and profound character development... I can cry, for Chrissakes! Did Aragorn let even one manly tear fall when his compatriot Boromir died? Not one! For shame.
Not to mention the fact that my superior intelligence would have deducted that Sauron was really "Needs Visine Man", an agent working within the Gondorian government conspiracy to facilitate the colonization of Middle-earth by alien hybrids a.k.a. Uruk-hai! It's so obvious.
And while we're on the subject of Aragorn I-HAVE-MORE-STUBBLE-THAN-BRAINS' faults, I'd like to point out that I would never form a romantic attachment with vapid OOH-LOOK-AT-ME-I'M-TOKEN-FEMALE-EYE-CANDY-ON-A-HORSE Arwen. I prefer women of substance who possess strength of character, intelligence and superior taste... like you USED to be, Anne.
All this to say that I, in light of the developments, have taken decisive action (so f*ck you, Chris Carter - I am just as manly as Robert Patrick) and have kidnapped the pretty boy duo. Rest assured I have not harmed them in any way, although I am seriously considering forcing Aragorn to shower - he's beginning to smell. However, they will remain in my custody until you stop this madness and "Return to Me" (HAH! A pun! I am viciously witty AND a "damn fine looking man"). I should warn you, however, that I might begin to lose some of my professional cool if you do not meet the terms soon, as Aragorn is really starting to piss me off. He's always going on about his big sword... wanting to compare it to my gun. I told him size doesn't matter, it's all about how well you handle it. He asked for a demonstration... a misunderstanding ensued, and things turned awkward...
ANYWAY... point being, if you care about their well-being and want to see them released, stop this LOTR obsession ASAP. Although, frankly Anne, I think Aragorn and Legolas are starting to enjoy the CAPTIVES IN A SINGLE CELL dynamic. I have had numerous requests for strawberry bubble bath - for what purpose I cannot fathom - as Aragorn is still as greasy as ever. I have also heard odd noises at night, but when I confronted them about these sounds, Aragorn muttered something about polishing his sword! Legolas just giggled suspiciously. When I subsequently confronted them about my suspicions regarding concerning the real nature of their fellowship, Aragorn (who frankly has no manners whatsover - can see why he is NOT king) had the nerve to tell me that he and Legolas are a hotter pairing than Krycek and myself (like hell!). I pretended not to know to what he was referring, but in the end, since honour was at stake, I replied that it isn't slash if one of the participants might as well be a girl! I digress...
As a show of good faith, I have decided to let the captives write a few words respectively:
(Blue ink)
*
Hey Anne,
I've chosen to write to you in blueish colour to remind you how pretty my eyes are. I refuse to respond to any of Dave's accusations. I am not a girl - ask Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, Sam, Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond, Wraith #5 and even Gollum... All I intend to say is remember me mounting that horse? I bet you do... naughty thoughts, I bet... And my skateboarding whilst killing Orcs routine - case made. I will conclude by stating that while Dave has his selling points, I will live forever... F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Score one for the Elf!
Love Legolas
*
(Red ink)
Anne,
Aragorn SOON-TO-BE-KING here. Legolas has used up all the ink writing bad poetry - PONCY GIT - so have decided to write in own blood as is manly thing to do. I thought I'd tell you that my stubble is looking damn good right now. While it is true that I am not yet king, I will be. Dave, on the other hand, will be hosting soft porn on "Red Shoe Diaries"... hardly manly. Also, I have a sword... Yes, my real one is broken (stop sniggering, Legolas, you know what I meant), but soon it will be better and BIGGER than ever. While Dave has a gun, how many people has he actually shot? I've killed THOUSANDS of Orcs and when I came back from the dead, I fought a war right away - not lying in a hospital bed like a nancy elf. Anyway, you know I am the better choice... am starting to feel faint...
Love, Ara..g...o...r...n
*
Anne,
Must wrap this up as stupid Aragorn has gone and fainted from blood loss - manly my ass. I did offer him the pen in my pocket, but all he said was a cryptic "later". You have heard my demands and I await your reply.
Love always - your true obsession, David Duchovny
P.S. I thought I should warn you that I think your daughter's motives in this endeavour are less than altruistic. I suspect she wants you to abandon Aragorn and Legolas so that she can have them to herself. TRUST NO ONE.
A Mother's Day card, in which he trades Aragorn and Legolas for Frodo and Sam:
Anne,
I apologize for the perfunctory address, but I am high on impatience and short on endearments. I have been waiting since February 14th for a reply to my ransom note and have to date received NONE! Pardon me, but what the HELL is wrong with you? Do you realize that I have been shut up all this time with Aragorn-still-not-king-for-oh-so-obvious-reasons and Legolas-still-not-remotely-manly? I was actually starting to think you must hate me - really despise me - to leave me hanging like that. Frankly, Anne, I was ready to call the whole thing off, cut my losses and move on. One less fan but two less headaches with sharp pointy objects and less than subtle propositions.
I was especially irked when my computer was destroyed by my hostages (hence this less than official letter). It seems Legolas, whilst surfing his disgustingly numerous fan sites, happened upon a story featuring him and a certain figure skater. He decided to show his chagrin by shooting my hard drive full of arrows… goddamned ARROWS! I was starting to say, “Anne be damned!” There are plenty of other women still fixated on my sophisticated good looks, stunning intellect and earthy wit.
I had classified you as being one of Chris Carter’s ilk, but then your daughter paid me a visit again and we had an interesting chat. She told me that your affections lay with another ambiguously gay duo. You would think my initial reaction would have been something like anger or betrayal or despair as it had been before, but in fact it was relief. It meant I would no longer be subjected to two men who made me want to go out and buy a pickup, grow a mullet, move to the Midwest and stop drinking imports, if only to assert my manly heterosexuality.
Initially I worried about what to do with my hostages, but Catherine relieved my predicament by offering, in my opinion not too altruistically, to take them off my hands. Of course I was only too glad to accept; however, I am not heartless, and judging by the lascivious grin on her face and her refusal of my offer to unchain them, I cannot but pity them and fear for their safety. However, I am indebted to Catherine, and had actually taken to calling her “Deep Throat” until she called me a pervy bastard. I SWEAR I didn’t mean it that way. Just as she was leaving, I did ask why she was helping me, to which she replied, “Call it a Mother’s Day present,” and promptly left with her toys.
Moving swiftly along, I am renewing my demands. Cease this foolish fixation with “Lord of the Rings” or I will have no choice but to harm a certain Mr. Frodo and his so-called “gardener.” I didn’t believe Catherine when she told me you were actually interested in a couple of four-feet tall little men with furry feet. Helloooooooo!!!! Tall, dark and handsome over here! I actually believed you had better taste. I am once again shocked and dismayed; however, they are proving to be more amiable hostages - very polite, if more expensive to feed. In fact they don’t seem to do much of anything at all except smoke some herbal concoction that reminds me of my time spent in British Columbia.
Sam is always fussing over Frodo. It’s quite sickening, actually, and oh so obviously more than platonic. I’d say Sam’s looking to get his hands on an entirely different kind of “hose.” But somehow this doesn’t bother me, as my participation is not desired. In fact, Sam has informed me umpteen times that if I try anything he’ll kill me. I assured him I had no desire to infringe on his territory, though, to be honest Anne, I couldn’t help but notice how convenient his height is… But anyway, aside from Sam’s daily death threats, my only other concern is Frodo’s whining angstiness. I’ll admit it completely outdoes anything I’ve ever done, and the little bastard appears to cry even prettier than I do.
I also believe that he may prefer solo performances to Sam. I’ve caught him several times hunched over clutching “something” and repeating over and over again “my precious.” I don’t know if I was relieved or disturbed to find out it was a ring all along. Quite gaudy, actually, although Frodo seemed convinced of its worth. When I asked to see it more closely, Frodo drew his sword and attacked me. I overpowered him easily, suppressing my awareness of his height, and remarked how much smaller his sword was compared to Aragorn’s. Sam leapt to Frodo’s defence and declared, “It’s not the size that counts, it’s what you do with it, Mr. Duchovny.” I tactfully withdrew at that point.
Needless to say, Anne, I ask that you reply quickly. I really am the injured party in this, you know. How many times have you watched my movies, Anne? How many times theirs? Do you even remember what I look like? This really is the ultimate betrayal. How many of my action figures do you own? How many of theirs? Why is HE on your keychain and not me? Oh yes, your daughter told me everything. No more Mr. Sensitive but-still-manly-fuck-you-Chris-Carter-and-Robert-Patrick Nice Guy. If you do not comply with my demand to renounce this rather pervy fascination with conveniently short hairy men, I will have no choice but to hand both of them over to DataLounge, and make no mistake, I am fully aware that they’re sick fucks. Enjoy Mother’s Day, but do hurry, as Frodo and Sam have started another game of Tig Tog, and I keep losing, goddammit. So now this makes Jeopardy, Millionaire and frigging Tig Tog!
Once again my compassion, however, extends to allowing the prisoners a brief word:
*
Ms. Anne,
Let Mr. Duchovny win, because if you touch Frodo, I’ll kill you.
Happy Mum’s Day.
Yours sincerely,
Samwise Gamgee, Esquire
*
Anne,
Your David’s a bit of a perv actually - keeps remarking on my height and I’m very aware why. I’m not blind or oblivious, you know. Luckily Sam’s been protecting me. I’ve told him that as my gardener his duties needn’t extend to strawberry bubble baths, back rubs at all hours of the night, or feet grooming with his tongue, especially when David offered the use of a sponge. I expect it must be that brotherly camaraderie we enjoy. I do realize that this is all about me. No one has my charm, charisma, good looks, or, let’s face it, my weepy angst-ridden, tear-up-on-command baby blues. Frankly, I say forget David. Bah - he only has hazel eyes, and let’s face it, that nose rivals Gandalf’s. We both know I’m the better choice. And may I once again direct your attention to my height? *winks* When we marry, Sam will naturally come too, as he’s handy in the garden and I do no work myself, you understand. We can discuss rings later, because you can’t have mine, it’s mine, my own, my preciousssssssss…
*
Anne,
I’ve taken the pen away from Frodo as he just tried to stab Sam. He appears to have taken it in stride, however, and is now comforting Frodo with yet another impromptu foot grooming… bloody sap.
Hurry, Anne - for their sake (DataLounge!) AND mine. Am starting to be drawn to the piercing blue gaze… so intense… the lashes… so long… so angsty. Okay. *deep breath* Off to shower, as Sam is directing a murderous glare my way and am very much a heterosexual.
It’s time to end this charade. I’ll accept that you did it to make me jealous, and that’s fine, but enough is enough. Enjoy Mother’s Day. Treat yourself to some of my movies - well, maybe not “Beethoven” or “Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead.” Reacquaint yourself with a REAL MAN (literally speaking) here.
Love, David Duchovny
P.S. Red Speedos!
Have I mentioned how much I love my daughter? Her friends at university all think she's a perv for writing me cards like that.
All this to say, for the last few years she has delighted in creating several wonderful cards ostensibly from Mr. Duchovny for special occasions (birthday, Valentine, Easter, Mother's Day, Christmas, etc). This year, she took as her theme Mr. Duchovny's hurt feelings at being abandoned, and these are the result. Note there are several X-Files, Very Secret Diaries, badfic and slash references.
A Valentine card, in which DD takes Aragorn and Legolas hostage:
Front cover:
Happy Valentine's Day Anne from David
Back cover:
1. Photograph of Legolas (behind bars). Caption: "Here's a picture of Legolas behind bars (manaical laughter). As per usual, he is trying to look wise, important and ethereal. Fails miserably if you ask me."
2. Photograph of Aragorn with sword. Caption: "And of course the so-called MANLY Aragorn. I feel this picture requires very little explanation... Aragorn and his sword (well, one of his swords, although in my opinion this one is by far the most impressive...)"
3. Photograph of David Duchovny, looking very cool, with ankle tattoo showing. Caption: "Thought I'd REMIND you what I look like (yes, that WAS bitterness)! Have a Happy Valentine's Day and hurry with your reply... Aragorn keeps telling me he'll show me his if I show him mine - am starting to suspect he does NOT mean tattoos!"
Inside text:
Dearest Anne,
It has been brought to my attention (via a reliable source *ahem* your daughter) that you have transferred your affections from myself to no less than TWO other men by the names of Aragorn and Legolas! All I can say is JUDAS! After I have given you seven wonderful seasons of X-Files - ALL FOR YOU, ANNE - you have betrayed me! I only stayed in Vancouver (god-forsaken, rain-soaked city that it is) as long as I did for YOU... and how do you repay this dedication? As soon as the show goes downhill and eventually (and thankfully) ends, you turn tail and run. TRAITOR! And for what? A greasy STILL-NOT-KING whiner and a nancy OH-LOOK-AT-ME-WALK-ON-SNOW blonde bimbo! I am disappointed in you, Anne. I have great psychological depth and profound character development... I can cry, for Chrissakes! Did Aragorn let even one manly tear fall when his compatriot Boromir died? Not one! For shame.
Not to mention the fact that my superior intelligence would have deducted that Sauron was really "Needs Visine Man", an agent working within the Gondorian government conspiracy to facilitate the colonization of Middle-earth by alien hybrids a.k.a. Uruk-hai! It's so obvious.
And while we're on the subject of Aragorn I-HAVE-MORE-STUBBLE-THAN-BRAINS' faults, I'd like to point out that I would never form a romantic attachment with vapid OOH-LOOK-AT-ME-I'M-TOKEN-FEMALE-EYE-CANDY-ON-A-HORSE Arwen. I prefer women of substance who possess strength of character, intelligence and superior taste... like you USED to be, Anne.
All this to say that I, in light of the developments, have taken decisive action (so f*ck you, Chris Carter - I am just as manly as Robert Patrick) and have kidnapped the pretty boy duo. Rest assured I have not harmed them in any way, although I am seriously considering forcing Aragorn to shower - he's beginning to smell. However, they will remain in my custody until you stop this madness and "Return to Me" (HAH! A pun! I am viciously witty AND a "damn fine looking man"). I should warn you, however, that I might begin to lose some of my professional cool if you do not meet the terms soon, as Aragorn is really starting to piss me off. He's always going on about his big sword... wanting to compare it to my gun. I told him size doesn't matter, it's all about how well you handle it. He asked for a demonstration... a misunderstanding ensued, and things turned awkward...
ANYWAY... point being, if you care about their well-being and want to see them released, stop this LOTR obsession ASAP. Although, frankly Anne, I think Aragorn and Legolas are starting to enjoy the CAPTIVES IN A SINGLE CELL dynamic. I have had numerous requests for strawberry bubble bath - for what purpose I cannot fathom - as Aragorn is still as greasy as ever. I have also heard odd noises at night, but when I confronted them about these sounds, Aragorn muttered something about polishing his sword! Legolas just giggled suspiciously. When I subsequently confronted them about my suspicions regarding concerning the real nature of their fellowship, Aragorn (who frankly has no manners whatsover - can see why he is NOT king) had the nerve to tell me that he and Legolas are a hotter pairing than Krycek and myself (like hell!). I pretended not to know to what he was referring, but in the end, since honour was at stake, I replied that it isn't slash if one of the participants might as well be a girl! I digress...
As a show of good faith, I have decided to let the captives write a few words respectively:
(Blue ink)
*
Hey Anne,
I've chosen to write to you in blueish colour to remind you how pretty my eyes are. I refuse to respond to any of Dave's accusations. I am not a girl - ask Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, Sam, Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond, Wraith #5 and even Gollum... All I intend to say is remember me mounting that horse? I bet you do... naughty thoughts, I bet... And my skateboarding whilst killing Orcs routine - case made. I will conclude by stating that while Dave has his selling points, I will live forever... F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Score one for the Elf!
Love Legolas
*
(Red ink)
Anne,
Aragorn SOON-TO-BE-KING here. Legolas has used up all the ink writing bad poetry - PONCY GIT - so have decided to write in own blood as is manly thing to do. I thought I'd tell you that my stubble is looking damn good right now. While it is true that I am not yet king, I will be. Dave, on the other hand, will be hosting soft porn on "Red Shoe Diaries"... hardly manly. Also, I have a sword... Yes, my real one is broken (stop sniggering, Legolas, you know what I meant), but soon it will be better and BIGGER than ever. While Dave has a gun, how many people has he actually shot? I've killed THOUSANDS of Orcs and when I came back from the dead, I fought a war right away - not lying in a hospital bed like a nancy elf. Anyway, you know I am the better choice... am starting to feel faint...
Love, Ara..g...o...r...n
*
Anne,
Must wrap this up as stupid Aragorn has gone and fainted from blood loss - manly my ass. I did offer him the pen in my pocket, but all he said was a cryptic "later". You have heard my demands and I await your reply.
Love always - your true obsession, David Duchovny
P.S. I thought I should warn you that I think your daughter's motives in this endeavour are less than altruistic. I suspect she wants you to abandon Aragorn and Legolas so that she can have them to herself. TRUST NO ONE.
A Mother's Day card, in which he trades Aragorn and Legolas for Frodo and Sam:
Anne,
I apologize for the perfunctory address, but I am high on impatience and short on endearments. I have been waiting since February 14th for a reply to my ransom note and have to date received NONE! Pardon me, but what the HELL is wrong with you? Do you realize that I have been shut up all this time with Aragorn-still-not-king-for-oh-so-obvious-reasons and Legolas-still-not-remotely-manly? I was actually starting to think you must hate me - really despise me - to leave me hanging like that. Frankly, Anne, I was ready to call the whole thing off, cut my losses and move on. One less fan but two less headaches with sharp pointy objects and less than subtle propositions.
I was especially irked when my computer was destroyed by my hostages (hence this less than official letter). It seems Legolas, whilst surfing his disgustingly numerous fan sites, happened upon a story featuring him and a certain figure skater. He decided to show his chagrin by shooting my hard drive full of arrows… goddamned ARROWS! I was starting to say, “Anne be damned!” There are plenty of other women still fixated on my sophisticated good looks, stunning intellect and earthy wit.
I had classified you as being one of Chris Carter’s ilk, but then your daughter paid me a visit again and we had an interesting chat. She told me that your affections lay with another ambiguously gay duo. You would think my initial reaction would have been something like anger or betrayal or despair as it had been before, but in fact it was relief. It meant I would no longer be subjected to two men who made me want to go out and buy a pickup, grow a mullet, move to the Midwest and stop drinking imports, if only to assert my manly heterosexuality.
Initially I worried about what to do with my hostages, but Catherine relieved my predicament by offering, in my opinion not too altruistically, to take them off my hands. Of course I was only too glad to accept; however, I am not heartless, and judging by the lascivious grin on her face and her refusal of my offer to unchain them, I cannot but pity them and fear for their safety. However, I am indebted to Catherine, and had actually taken to calling her “Deep Throat” until she called me a pervy bastard. I SWEAR I didn’t mean it that way. Just as she was leaving, I did ask why she was helping me, to which she replied, “Call it a Mother’s Day present,” and promptly left with her toys.
Moving swiftly along, I am renewing my demands. Cease this foolish fixation with “Lord of the Rings” or I will have no choice but to harm a certain Mr. Frodo and his so-called “gardener.” I didn’t believe Catherine when she told me you were actually interested in a couple of four-feet tall little men with furry feet. Helloooooooo!!!! Tall, dark and handsome over here! I actually believed you had better taste. I am once again shocked and dismayed; however, they are proving to be more amiable hostages - very polite, if more expensive to feed. In fact they don’t seem to do much of anything at all except smoke some herbal concoction that reminds me of my time spent in British Columbia.
Sam is always fussing over Frodo. It’s quite sickening, actually, and oh so obviously more than platonic. I’d say Sam’s looking to get his hands on an entirely different kind of “hose.” But somehow this doesn’t bother me, as my participation is not desired. In fact, Sam has informed me umpteen times that if I try anything he’ll kill me. I assured him I had no desire to infringe on his territory, though, to be honest Anne, I couldn’t help but notice how convenient his height is… But anyway, aside from Sam’s daily death threats, my only other concern is Frodo’s whining angstiness. I’ll admit it completely outdoes anything I’ve ever done, and the little bastard appears to cry even prettier than I do.
I also believe that he may prefer solo performances to Sam. I’ve caught him several times hunched over clutching “something” and repeating over and over again “my precious.” I don’t know if I was relieved or disturbed to find out it was a ring all along. Quite gaudy, actually, although Frodo seemed convinced of its worth. When I asked to see it more closely, Frodo drew his sword and attacked me. I overpowered him easily, suppressing my awareness of his height, and remarked how much smaller his sword was compared to Aragorn’s. Sam leapt to Frodo’s defence and declared, “It’s not the size that counts, it’s what you do with it, Mr. Duchovny.” I tactfully withdrew at that point.
Needless to say, Anne, I ask that you reply quickly. I really am the injured party in this, you know. How many times have you watched my movies, Anne? How many times theirs? Do you even remember what I look like? This really is the ultimate betrayal. How many of my action figures do you own? How many of theirs? Why is HE on your keychain and not me? Oh yes, your daughter told me everything. No more Mr. Sensitive but-still-manly-fuck-you-Chris-Carter-and-Robert-Patrick Nice Guy. If you do not comply with my demand to renounce this rather pervy fascination with conveniently short hairy men, I will have no choice but to hand both of them over to DataLounge, and make no mistake, I am fully aware that they’re sick fucks. Enjoy Mother’s Day, but do hurry, as Frodo and Sam have started another game of Tig Tog, and I keep losing, goddammit. So now this makes Jeopardy, Millionaire and frigging Tig Tog!
Once again my compassion, however, extends to allowing the prisoners a brief word:
*
Ms. Anne,
Let Mr. Duchovny win, because if you touch Frodo, I’ll kill you.
Happy Mum’s Day.
Yours sincerely,
Samwise Gamgee, Esquire
*
Anne,
Your David’s a bit of a perv actually - keeps remarking on my height and I’m very aware why. I’m not blind or oblivious, you know. Luckily Sam’s been protecting me. I’ve told him that as my gardener his duties needn’t extend to strawberry bubble baths, back rubs at all hours of the night, or feet grooming with his tongue, especially when David offered the use of a sponge. I expect it must be that brotherly camaraderie we enjoy. I do realize that this is all about me. No one has my charm, charisma, good looks, or, let’s face it, my weepy angst-ridden, tear-up-on-command baby blues. Frankly, I say forget David. Bah - he only has hazel eyes, and let’s face it, that nose rivals Gandalf’s. We both know I’m the better choice. And may I once again direct your attention to my height? *winks* When we marry, Sam will naturally come too, as he’s handy in the garden and I do no work myself, you understand. We can discuss rings later, because you can’t have mine, it’s mine, my own, my preciousssssssss…
*
Anne,
I’ve taken the pen away from Frodo as he just tried to stab Sam. He appears to have taken it in stride, however, and is now comforting Frodo with yet another impromptu foot grooming… bloody sap.
Hurry, Anne - for their sake (DataLounge!) AND mine. Am starting to be drawn to the piercing blue gaze… so intense… the lashes… so long… so angsty. Okay. *deep breath* Off to shower, as Sam is directing a murderous glare my way and am very much a heterosexual.
It’s time to end this charade. I’ll accept that you did it to make me jealous, and that’s fine, but enough is enough. Enjoy Mother’s Day. Treat yourself to some of my movies - well, maybe not “Beethoven” or “Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead.” Reacquaint yourself with a REAL MAN (literally speaking) here.
Love, David Duchovny
P.S. Red Speedos!
Have I mentioned how much I love my daughter? Her friends at university all think she's a perv for writing me cards like that.