Friday, July 28, 2006

Ashlee Simpson: Mel Gibson Can Drive Me Home Anytime


















Hey Mel,

You silly little Aussie! You went and got yourself all drunk and stuff and then, like, drove a car and stuff. I can't believe you got a DOA! That was, like, sooooo dumm. I once almost got a DOA, but then I turned to the cop and he was like, "Wow! Ashlee Simpson! I won't give you a DOA!" He then arrested me. What a jerk. It's okay, daddy got me out of jail before anyone knew who I was. Phew! Hope you didn't have a bad time in jaily-jail. I'm sure everyone had seen that great movie you made, Air America, and cut you some slack. You were so cute in that movie! Daddy used to make us watch that movie every single day. He also used to make us dance in front of him in little French maid outfits. Daddy's weird!

Okay, I just wanted to let you know that you were a silly drunk little goose, but I'll still let you drive me anywhere. But you'll have to let me sing in the car! Although I've learned that we have to keep the windows shut as my voice has been deemed noise pollution by six federal judges. Whatever. They don't know diddly sasquatch. They're dumm!

Okay!! Pick me up anytime Mel!!! Love ya!

Yipee Skipee!
Ashlee Simpson

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Thursday, July 27, 2006

Mmmm....You Can Breast Feed Me, Baby



Dear babytalk Magazine,

So you like breast feeding, eh? Mmmm...so do I. My name is Phil Collins and I officially approve of your magazine cover. Yeah, I like-ah da taste-ah of your breasts-ah. Oh yeah. Suckin' out the mother's milk. You like when I do that? Oh yeah. You like it. I can feel the milk...in the air tonight. Oh yeah.

Don't worry, honey, I won't bite. Nah, I'm gentle when I suck from the tap. Yeah, I'm sweet like honeysuckle. I'm sweet like candy. I'm sweet like Phil Collins, baby. Oh yeah. Don't worry, it ain't no fetish. Cuz when Phil Collins does it, it's mainstream. Oh yeah. It's on, baby, it's on.

Mmmmm....let me see that image again:




Yeah, daddy likes. Daddy likes a lot. I'm Phil Collins and I'm on the market, baby! On the market for some breast milk. Oh yeah. Serve it up, baby. Serve it up. Cuz I'm allll man.


Ready For You,
Phil Collins


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Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Jessica Alba: I'd Still Do You Lance Bass



Dear Lance Bass,

Honey, I don't care if you're gay. I'd still do you. Sure, it would feel as natural as the Olsen twins eating a three course meal, but I'd still do you. I'd wrap my nubile legs around your harmonizing body and ride you like a pit bull riding Barbara Walters' ass. Granted, you wouldn't actually enjoy it or probably even be functionally erect (as opposed to non-functionally erect?), but I'd still do you. Yup, you're as gay as the day is long, but I'd still do you.

Don't get me wrong, I still pine for Major Dad, but that is more of a distant love type of thing. You? I want to ravage your body all day. In short, I want to do you, whether or not you're gay, straight, or Nelly Furtado.


Hot For You,
Jessica Alba


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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Mako Is Dead



Ladies and Gentleman of the World,

Between the time the Ocean drank Atlantis and the rise of the Sons of Aryas, Mako lived a life of distinction and greatness. Sadly, that life has come to a close as Mako recently perished.

Mako was a brilliant actor. He played the wise wizard Akiro in the great Conan movies, a feat without parallel in our modern society. It is perhaps the greatest accomplishment in the history of San Diego and perhaps the world. Actually, in German, Mako's name means a whale's vagina, although scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago. Essentially, Mako was the reason why most people live in a free society. And now he's dead. Not even Gary Coleman can mock this one, although I'm sure he'd like to.


As one Mako fan to another, I beg of you to pay homage to this great man. Leave a comment on this blog, send a virtual card to his family, call his family's house and hang up as a sign of solidarity, or throw rotten eggs on his family's garage as a sign of respect. Whatever you'd like. Just show some love to this great, great man. Truly a sad day. Truly.


Deep Regrets,
A Concerned Fan


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Guest Posting On Agent Bedhead

Hey Folks,

I'll put up a post later tonight, but until then, check out my guest post on Agent Bedhead:

Here

See you later tonight, same Hewitt time...same Hewitt channel.

-CF

Monday, July 24, 2006

Wilford Brimley Speaks Out About Chlamydia



Thanks to Ben for this week's question. Check in next Monday for the next installment of The Pissed Off Patriarch of Proposals: Wilford Brimley. Until then, keep those questions coming to pleasedoitmshewitt@yahoo.com.

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Dear Wilford,

My friend told me he recently contracted Chlamydia. Isn’t that a kind of chowder? If not, is it like diabeetis?

Ben

PS: My buddy said even though he has Chlamydia, he could still kick your ass.



Dear Ben,

Thanks for your God damn question. First of all, it's The Diabetes, not just diabetes or diabeetis. I don't care how you spell the damn word, but you gotta capitalize the God damn D and it needs a "The" in front of it. It just don't feel God damn natural to call it plain diabetes with a lowercase beginning. Just ain't right. I ain't no Englishmatician, but I know a little somethin' about The Diabetes, and I know how you should and shouldn't spell it. But enough about that. On to the God damn chlamydia question.

As many people know, I'm a big fan of The Chlamydia. Had it many times. Hell, that little bug feels like a son to me. One thing I do know is it ain't no chowder. I don't know who filled your head with that type of nonsense, but it just ain't the truth. While chowder is served before dinner, Chlamydia is more of an after dinner treat. You know, one time my wife tried to give me a God damn Jon Tesh CD for my birthday, so I gave her Chlamydia for Christmas. Right after a nice dinner. I tell you somethin', it was much better than the God damn chowder she served that night. You can take that comment to the God damn bank and cash it. My word is as good as God damn cash, and it smells better too.

So, on behalf of all people with The Diabetes, I urge you to go out and get some Chlamydia. It's a great thing to have to get back at your wife when she sasses you some in the evenin'. Although it ain't no substitute for insulin, so I wouldn't try injectin' it into your arm. But you can inject it into that special someone, if you know what I God damn mean.

Oh, and tell your friend I'm sorry. Sorry that I'm going to put my God damn foot so far up his ass that he'll have a Nike swoosh on his tongue.


Pissed Off,
Wilford Brimley


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Friday, July 21, 2006

Brad Garrett To Offer Date For Charity


Dear America,

I think Jessica Biel had a great idea when she whored herself out for charity. If she could raise $30,000 for some poor teenager...then I could definitely raise $100,000. Or at least 100,000 Canadian dollars. Or Australian dollars. Or Turkish Lira. Regardless, I'm a big international celebrity, and a certified Grade A hunk machine, so people will definitely be willing to buy a date with me.

Who wouldn't want to pay for a date with a freakishly tall actor/comedian with weird diction who had a supporting role on a famous, but highly annoying, sitcom? I would! I would pay top dollar for a date with me, Brad Garrett, star of Til Death, an irascible new sitcom on the great Fox Network. Maybe I'll start the bidding. Does anyone hear 10 dollars? 20? 30? C'mon, people, start bidding. I'm sure you'd bid for Raymond. Everyone bids for Raymond.


I'll be waiting. As will the charity of my choice: Tall Clubs International. It's not a normal charity, per se, but it helps people like me interact with you normal humans out there. Please bid for me. They need the money. Actually, I need the money. I spent all of my money bidding for a date with Paula Abdul, and now I'm broke. And I don't think that new show will help. I'm going to keep the money you bid for me. I'm the greatest charity I can think of.

Okay, start the bidding....now! Hello? Start now! Um...now! I'm waiting! Please bid for me!!!!!!!!! I'm going to go cry gigantic tears.


Lonely,
Brad Garrett


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Thursday, July 20, 2006

Wanted: A New Assistant For Christie Brinkley




To Whom It May Concern:

Based on the latest revelations about my husband, I have decided it's my turn to get an assistant. Here are my requirements for the job:


I'm looking for a 6'4", 230 lb black guy with a 12 inch wang.


You can personally drop-off your resume, headshots, and multiple Polaroid pictures of your wang to my office. I will be checking references...personally. Also, please note - I will not accept any resumes from this guy:




That is all. I'm looking forward to working with and under you. You can thank my husband, Peter Cook, for the job opening.


Best Regards,
Christie Brinkley


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Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Hey Kid Rock, Your Wedding Has My Blessing



Hey Kid,

Can I call you Kid? Or should I call you Mr. Rock? Hot damn, man, you're one lucky piece of shit! I'm sorry. I don't I mean that you're a piece of shit. Man, I just was so fuckin' excited that I jumbled my damn words. Alls I mean is that I'd give my left nut to marry that blonde jugster, Pam Anderson. Yeeeeah! Pam Anderson is a hot piece of somethin', man, and you're gonna bang that shit all day, every day. Can I watch? Man, I don't even need to watch. Just let me drink a Coors Light that was sittin' in your room when you guys do it, and I'll die a happy man. Hot damn, man!


I heard she got the Hep C. I don't know what that is, but it sounds hot, man. Make sure to save some Hep C for me! I've always wanted some. Yeah, man, that's good stuff. Actually, can you buy Hep C in Canada or something? She is a certified Canadian, and they gots themselves some weird stuff up there. Maybe I can take my house for a ride to that Canada place. Where the hell is it?


Alright, man, you stay cool. I'm gonna go beat my wife, cuz that's what I like to do on Wednesday mornings. Today's Wednesday right? Shit, I don't even know what day it was. I went to my daughter's junior prom last night and it was all crazy. No, I wasn't her date. I was her chaper-something...and I was her best friend's date. I didn't even know summer school had a prom. Fuck, I didn't even know there was a summer school. But it was a great time. She put on grandma's prom dress and the four of us sat around a fire and drank some Coors Light. What an evenin', man. What a fuckin' evening.


Good luck at the wedding, man. And bang her a good one on the fuckin' honeymoon.


Yee to the fuckin' hah,
Billy Jo Cletus



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Monday, July 17, 2006

Wilford Brimley Speaks Out About Sex Tapes



Thanks to Mike (probably) for this week's question. There were a few, and Wilford promises to get to all of them in due time. Check in next Monday for the next installment of The Grizzled Grandmaster of Great Sex: Wilford Brimley. Until then, keep those questions coming to pleasedoitmshewitt@yahoo.com.

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Mr. Wilford Brimley:

What I want to know, sir, is have you ever made your own sex tape, or even thought of making your own? Many celebs are doing it these days, and for many it has enhanced, or even started, their career. What say you, oh grand mustachioed one?

Thanks!
Mike (probably)



Dear Mike (probably),

Thanks for your God damn question. Of course I made a God damn sex tape. How the did you think I got so damn famous? Hell, I invented the sex tape craze back in 1957. At the time we didn't have no God damn handheld cameras. But I took a lot pictures of me having some sex with the Mrs. and then put them together in a flipbook. Sure, it was low-tech, but we didn't have the God damn Internets to use, so we made do with what we had. Frankly, it was a hell of a sexy flipbook and it made quite the rounds in Hollywood. I didn't even have to do an audition for Cocoon. I just sent them my makeshift "sex tape" and they practically begged me to play the role. I got more virility in my God damn pinky toe than 400 young fellows like you put together. Next time don't be so damn ignorant with your questions.

Unfortunately, I haven't released another sex tape. Even though I like taking my wife up the Wilford Hole on a routine basis, I don't film myself no more. It's because of The Diabetes. It's tough to hold a camera, check my blood sugar, inject insulin, and pleasure my wife all at the same time. It's God damn near impossible. I know the world is waiting for a new and improved Wilford Brimley sex tape to spread around your God damn Internets, but you're just going to have to wait a bit longer. I ain't ready to show you my naked ass quite yet. You're just gonna have to hold on to see it again.

But I urge all you young fellows out there to make a sex tape with your woman. Hell, if she ain't into it, go buy a woman in Russia and film the two of you engaging in some bump 'n grind action. I don't really care. The important point is that a sex tape will improve your career, and really that's all you should care about. Relationships are a good thing, but they don't mean much if you ain't makin' money. Then you're a God damn waste of space. That's what I tell my deadbeat son-in-law all the time. That kid's a God damn waste of space, and he should really consider making a sex tape with my daughter. Maybe then he'll pick up a check one of these days.

Oh, and as for the key to my sex tape success? The mustache. Let's just say it tickles their God damn thighs.


Pissed Off,
Wilford Brimley


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Saturday, July 15, 2006

I'm So Much Jewisher Than You




Dear Not Chosen, Just Posin',

You claim to be a fake Jew. Guess what - I'm a real jew and I'm proud of it. I'm sooooo much Jewisher than you, it's not even funny. Actually, it is funny and I know funny because I was on Friends. Not sure which one? Look for the funniest and most Jewishist of all of them and you're sure to find me. Yeah, I'm THAT Jewish.

Frankly, you're a disgrace. There are so many more qualified Members of the Tribe that should be working at that magazine. Yet you, a FAKE JEW takes their well-deserved place. Okay, so maybe you're technically qualified on paper...but Judah Maccabee wasn't made of paper. He was made of flesh, blood, and Jew. Like me. You? You're made of something very not Jewish. Go celebrate Festivus or something.

Ugh...you make me seethe with anger. Jewish anger! I'm missing the Sabbath right now because of you. For that I should never forgive you, but I will because I'm Jewish and that's just what I do. You wouldn't know about that because I clearly am so so so so so so much Jewisher than you. I bleed matzo. I sweat gefilte fish. I cry brisket. I am the most Jewishist person in the entire world. And for that, I am happy.

Go think about what I said. Ponder it. Consider it. Remember it. Next time maybe you won't be so capricious with your proclamations.


Jewish,
David Schwimmer



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Thursday, July 13, 2006

The World Waits For James Gandolfini




Dear Sopranos Viewers,

Get used to disappointment. Do you fuckin' hear what I'm fuckin' saying? Learn to live with some pain. Life ain't always so fuckin' rosey, so you have to deal with whatchu get. So the show has been delayed for a few months...big fuckin' deal. We're the only show that takes 6-8 months to make 8 episodes. What's another 3 months? Stop your whining now. Or I may just take my good knee and put it right in your fuckin' groin. That's what I thought. You'll wait for me to heal, and you'll fuckin' like it.

If you really can't wait, why don't you go out and buy the Sopranos DVDs. Or maybe the DVDs for Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. You know that show was pretty good for a few episodes, and Teri Hatcher was pretty fuckin' hot those days. Now she looks like a space alien from the planet Nep-fucking-tune. I'd still do her, though. But I'd do Sarah Jessica Parker too, and she looks like shrapnel. Hell, I'd even do Pam Anderson, and she has Hepatitis C, so I guess my fuckin' standards aren't too high. Fuck you if you have a problem with that. And go rent the Sopranos, now.

All this fuckin' typing has made my knee sore. I'm going to go ice the fucking joint before it pops open like Vito's ass when they shoved that pool cue up it. Fiction you say? I say it was fact. And if you've got a problem with it, then I suggest you take it up with my friend Clark fucking Kent. That guy was a fuckin' badass and banged that Teri Hatcher broad. I'll drink to that. Lechaim.


Fuck You,
James Gandolfini


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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Matt Lauer Admits To Loving Porn



Hi America!

My name is Matt Lauer and I love pornography! I love it! Love it! Love it! Love it! Nothing in the world makes me happier than downloading some Internet porn on my NBC-issued IBM Thinkpad computer. It's great! I do it in my house. I do it with a mouse. I do it on the phone. I do it and get a bone...er. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!! Yay porn!

Porn! Porn! Porn! Porn!

Seriously, the site of two 19-year-old women kissing each other, while fondling a well-hung black man named Lex makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. And outside! Ha ha...that was a porn joke because I love porn. I'm telling you, when our Lord Gerald Ford created the Porno Superhighway, he had me in mind. Katie used to marvel at the quantity of porn that I watched. She suggested that I had some type of mental disease and offered me some of her anti-depressant pills, but we all know those are BS!!! There really is no rational explanation for my love of the great world of pornography. I just love it. More than anything else in this world. Yes, even more than Britney and definitely more than Mr. T.

Anyway...I guess what I'm trying to say is....yay porn! I'm going to go download some great girl on girl action right now because that's what I'm in the mood for. Trust me, I know where to find it.


Porn,
Matt Lauer


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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Wilford Brimley Speaks Out About Orgasms



There were no questions for Wilford this week, folks. The deadline was even extended to Tuesday night, but nothing. Shame on all of you! Thank goodness Wilford has a plethora of strong opinions on everything relationship-related, so he had something to write about this week. But keep sending those questions to pleasedoitmshewitt@yahoo.com.

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Dear America and Sometimes God damn Canada,

I haven't had a good God damn orgasm in some 20 odd years. I ain't proud of that fact. I ain't ashamed of it. It just is what it God damn is. When you have The Diabetes, like I do, there are more important things to worry about. Like the time I broke my last needle and had no way to inject my insulin. Hell, I could have died. In fact, I did die. But then I told The Lord how pissed off I was and he sent me the hell back to Earth, where I promptly began doing commercials for Liberty Medical. And, well, the rest is God damn history.

But getting back to God damn orgasms. As I said, I ain't had an orgasm in some 20 odd years. I got enough backed up sperm in me to fill the God damn Minnesota Metrodome. And you know what? That's why I'm always so pissed off. Oh sure, my wife still gives me The Sex in the Wilford Hole, but it ain't enough. It's like stabbing a prostitute with a shard of glass. Sure, it gets one less criminal off the street, but does it really make a God damn difference in the world? No, which is why I tell my wife every night that I think she's a God damn prostitute and I want to stab her. For some reason, this is killing our marriage.

So I urge you young fellows out there to orgasm whenever you can. Do it alone. Do it with a partner. Hell, I don't care if you do it to my picture. I am an American sex symbol, after all. However you do it, just be sure and do it soon, or you may just go out and stab your girlfriend or wife. I won't approve of it, but I won't report you to the authorities either because I ain't no God damn rat. The point is that frequent orgasms are the key to all relationships. Have them or die single. It's your God damn choice.


Pissed Off,
Wilford Brimley


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Monday, July 10, 2006

I Ate Suri Cruise




Dear World,

Nobody has seen Suri Cruise. Nobody! It's because I ate her. I ate her! I told you I ate a baby once before and I told you I'd eat another. I was bigger than it and higher up on the food chain, so I ate it. It got in my belly!

Sigh. I'm sorry, I didn't really eat Suri Cruise. It's just been so long since I've been in the spotlight and I really wanted to feel like I was part of the discussion again, you know? All this talk about Britney and Lindsay and Paris and Major Dad just made me jealous. I feel like I could eat a baby! But really, I just eat chocolate instead. Look at me, I'm a big fat slob. I've got bigger titties than Pam Anderson, but not Bill Parcells. I've got more chins than a Chinese phonebook. I've not seen my willie in two years, which is long enough to declare it legally dead. I can't stop eating. I eat because I'm unhappy, and I'm unhappy because I eat. Wait...there I go again quoting dialogue straight from one of my movies. See, I can't even be original anymore. I hate my life and I hate my father. He did this to me.

I'm going to go hang myself now. Goodbye cruel world.


Regretfully Yours,
Fat Bastard


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Friday, July 07, 2006

I Did Not Fondle Any Fans



Dear Female Baseball Fans,

It seems there's this crazy story out there about a baseball mascot who fondled a fan. Well, that wasn't me, I assure you. Although I often dream of touching your breasts in many, many, many inappropriate ways, I swear that I am a phondle phree Phillie Phanatic.

Look at my face. Does it look like I'm lying? How can you not trust an innocent face like this? When I say I didn't fondle anybody, I mean I didn't fondle anyone. It was another mascot, not me. Okay? Can you just drop the issue?

Okay, maybe I fondled a few women. I'm telling you it was consensual. Fondle is such a strong word. As is molest. Can you maybe call it, "slyly touched?" How about "unknowingly brushed against." I promise it was very innocent. They even smiled at me and waved after it happened.

Okay, maybe I raped a few women. I'm telling you they wanted it! Look at me, can't you see I'm a sexual dynamo? This is a hot look, baby, and you know that every female fan wants a piece. Sure, I drugged their beers and then took them on top of the dugout after the game, but anyone would have done the same in my situation. Seriously!

Okay, maybe I raped and murdered a few women and molested a few men. It's just...um...okay...I've got nothing for this one. I'll turn myself in tomorrow.


Sorry,
Phillie Phanatic


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Thursday, July 06, 2006

A Eulogy to Ken Lay by Gary Coleman

Kenneth "Kenny Boy" Lay, founder of Enron - the delightful Energy Company that swindled billions of shareholder dollars - died recently. As we have in the past (#1, #2, #3, #4), we here at Please Do It Ms Hewitt turned to our diminutive friend Gary Coleman for a response. Yup, we never learn.




Whatchu Talkin' Bout Ken Lay,

You owe me an ice cream. For 2 centuries I invested in your company. Two whole centuries, Mr. Lay. And yet, now you die, humiliating me in the process. I was Arnold Jackson on Diff'rent Strokes! What part of international celebrity do you not understand? I had a brother named Willis and a father I called Mr. Drummond. Did you know Mr. Drummond is Canadian? You are not. And that is why you owe me an ice cream.

Clearly we should be celebrating my life. Yet, you are dead, robbing me of perpetual glory. People told me you were convicted of a crime. It figures, as your hogging of my well-deserved spotlight has been criminal. I still think you should go to jail, though. As a skeleton you would make a fine prisoner. I would make a great prisoner, because I am great at everything. But nobody will know that now because you have perished. And thus we are saddened by your death.

In conclusion, I will send your family the bill for my ice cream. I demand payment in due haste or I will send Willis to ram your car. Oh, he will ram it. Ram it like a fox. My prayers are with your family, but mostly they are with me. I deserve all prayers. Pray to me. Now.


Sadly,
Gary Coleman


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Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Keira Knightley: I'm Not Anorexic, I Just Eat Very Small Portions




Dear World,

I'm not anorexic. Please, I beg you ever so kindly to believe me. I don't starve myself. I don't withhold food from my flat stomach. I don't fail to partake of my daily food consumption. I simply eat small portions. Very small.

For example, a typical British girl at Wimbledon may eat 7 or 8 strawberries and drink a glass of champagne. That's like a seven course meal for me. I prefer to eat a single strawberry seed and lick the champagne off of the cork. That's not starving myself. It's just my normal portion size. Trust me, it makes me so full!! In order to keep my flat stomach and flat chest (where did you think they got the title of the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, eh?), I need to eat small portions. You can take your 3 chicken egg omelet - I'll use rat eggs. What? Rats don't lay eggs? Okay, then I guess I'll just pass on breakfast. And maybe lunch and dinner too.

So, I beg of you to stop these salacious rumors about me. I'm not anorexic. Eating a single Cheerio for breakfast is not a problem. It's proper portion control from a proper Brit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to chain myself to a tree. I feel a gust of wind coming and I may blow away.

Cheers,
Keira Knightley



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Monday, July 03, 2006

Wilford Brimley Speaks Out About Nuts



Thanks to bobgirrl for this week's question. Again, keep 'em coming to pleasedoitmshewitt@yahoo.com.

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Dear Wilford,

Sometimes I feel like a nut. Sometimes I don't. Can you please help???

Hugs and Kisses,
bobgirrl



Dear bobgirrl,

Thanks for your God damn question. Your question reminds me of a commercial that I like. It's a commercial with a very familiar slogan that I'm sure you were thinking of when you asked your God damn question. It's a commercial for a little thing that I like to call...The Diabetes. If you have The Senility like some of my peers, and don't remember it, here are a couple of out-takes for you young fellows out there:





But back to your God damn question. I reckon that you're asking about that special time once a month when a woman gets that warm trickle between her God damn legs. I know there's a medical term for it, but I like to call that stuff Wilford Juice. Wilford Juice does some crazy stuff to a woman's mind, making her a bit psycho. Some call it The Menstruation. I call it Having a Wilford. I'm sure this is what you're talking about with your God damn nuts question. So listen up and eat your Quaker Oats, and you might learn something.

When my wife Has a Wilford every month, and it only comes once a month for some God damn reason, I like to give her a box of chocolates. Then I give her flowers. Then I take her behind my God damn house and have carnal relations with her in the Wilford Hole. That seems to keep her God damn mouth shut for a while, and ends those crazy impulses that she seems to have. She once tried to set my mustache on fire. Well, I didn't go for that, and I let her know it. The key to any relationship is honesty and a stern talkin' to. Watching Cocoon ain't a bad thing either, as it calms the nerves and stabilizes your blood sugar, which is good if you have The Diabetes as I do.

So if you start feeling like a nut, just follow my advice and everything will be fine. If you choose not to listen to me, I may just come to get you. I don't like to be crossed as it pisses me off. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go satiate my wife in the Wilford Hole. She's a God damn nut right now.


Pissed Off,
Wilford Brimley


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Sunday, July 02, 2006

Rob Schneider Is Safe; Praise The Lord!




















Dear Rob,

I'm so happy you're safe. When Ralph Macchio told me that you collapsed from a heat stroke, I was devastated. I called up Judd Nelson and Emilio Estevez and broke the news and they burst into tears. Frankly, we were terrified that you weren't going to pull out of this. I don't know what we would do if another Deuce Bigalow couldn't be filmed. Judd called up Rob Lowe and he offered to kill the Sun in revenge for it giving you a heat stroke. I gotta tell you, we were pretty damn close to doing it, but then Patrick Swayze called and calmed us down. How he knew that we had gotten all hot and bothered (no pun intended) will forever be a mystery to me, but thank goodness he called. Otherwise we would have been on a one-way ticket to the Sun, to give it an ass-kicking it never would have forgetten. Admittedly we may have died, but it would have been worth it to avenge your honor. Matt Dillon agreed.

Anyway, if you need anything for your recovery, including a Tahitian prostitute, let me know. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows Leif Garrett, who can hook us up. Just don't tell Bronson Pinchot, he may get pissed off and do something nasty. He gets like that. Seriously, please feel free to call me if you experience any discomfort in the future. I could even be convinced to give you a reach-around. Ha ha...kidding. Maybe not. No, really, I am. Or not. We shall see.


Love,
C. Thomas Howell




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