Dear Natalie Portman,
It saddens us to hear that you have not only become recently engaged to a man by the name of Benjamin Millepied, a man that sounds like a character in Lewis Carroll novel, but that he has also loaded you up with a baby that’s set to be delivered next year. This angers us. Sure, this Millepied guy is probably really sweet and kind and loving, but he pales in comparison to what we can offer you.
For starters, we are really good at sex. So good. Too good, in fact. Delivering you orgasmic pleasure is a top priority for us, or at least it would have been had you chosen us to be your life mates. You see, we have these penises that are rather spectacular. They can do all kinds of sex stuff. Not only can they move backwards and forwards in and out of holes, but we have this thing we like to do called the Mississippi Mudslide that is sure to make your underparts quiver with moist joy. As far as we know there are only two things in life that can adequately deliver high levels of moist joy, and our sexual organs while in mid-Mississippi Mudslide is one of them. Red velvet cake is the other.
The Mississippi Mudslide is far too graphic an act to describe in a forum such as this, but allow us to give you a small glimpse in to what the act involves:
3 sticks of unsalted butter
A man named Rodrigo
One of those machines that tests the power of a car battery
A turkey baster filled with blue Kool Aid
These forces combine to form a level of sexual satisfaction that can only be achieved by a gaggle of dudes that work for an internet comedy blog.
We understand that you are also a Harvard graduate. Knowing this, we are well prepared to engage your high functioning brain with simulating conversation. Here is a sample conversation we could be having right now:
HT: “Hey, have you heard about this financial crisis thing?”
HT: “That shit is totally balls, isn’t it my dear Natalie?”
NP: “Indeed it is, Holy Taco. I concur with your previous enlightening statement and would like to add my thoughts in to the discussion.”
HT: “No. Women should be seen, not heard.”
See? We’ll bet your brain just grew like 5 sizes after reading that. You can’t get that level of discourse from a modern news outlet. Only with us, here, at Holy Taco.
We also possess many talents that are sure to impress your friends and loved ones. Take, for example, our vast knowledge of the Star Wars expanded universe. Did you know that the Wookie language is very difficult to understand, yet a Wookie with a speech impediment is very easy for humans to understand? It’s true! We dare Mr. Millepied to conjure up such an impressive array of fact-based knowledge such as that.
We also have the ability to instantly identify and classify felines by the puddles of urine they leave behind in the wild. There are a number of cats currently residing within and around the Holy Taco offices, and each has had their species, genus, family, order, class, phylum, kingdom, domain and life properly identified by us. As an example, here’s a cat that hangs by our dumpster that we have named Reginald B. Wampa Stompa.
We have identified his species as that of cat. His genus is cat as well. His family is the Wampa Stompa clan. His class is low, seeing as he hangs out near dumpsters. We don’t know what a phylum is, so we’ll just say Reginald’s is cat. He is a part of the animal kingdom, but we are almost 100% sure that if you filmed him doing his various cat-like things and put that video on TV, he would be a part of the Animal Planet. As far as we know, Reginald does not own a website; therefore, he does not own a domain. His domain could also be dumpster, but there is some argument among us thinking-types here at Holy Taco about that. And as for life, he has a good one, but he eats our refuse, so it’s probably not that good.
We figured all that out after he pissed on our welcome mat. We couldn’t get the smell out for weeks, but we used that time to learn everything about him, making it impossible for him to escape our inevitable vengeance.
So, you see, Natalie, we are a catch. We are unmatched. We have no rivals. All of us can pleasure you in both carnal and intellectual ways. We may even devise some ways to do both at the same time; perhaps pleasuring you with our sex organs while enlightening you on the various subtle nuances of both the trade route disputes that sparked the Clone Wars, and the type of cat that left behind the urine stench that will be floating about through the air as we make love. (Hint: it’s a cat).
So, please, we ask that you rethink your decision to hitch your wagon to a Millepied, for we are clearly the better choice.
Also, you’re rich and we are not. We really like that about you.
P.S. – Reginald will be dead by our hands by the time this letter reaches yours.