Miss Lansbury,
I think you and I need to be a thing. A romantic/sexual/bang-buds/whateveryouwannacallit kinda thing. But after we go through a whole getting married kinda thing. A getting-married-with-no-pre-nuptual-agreement kinda thing.
Because, you are a lady. A dame even.
And because there's no reason to mince words.
The young ladies and I? That's just not really working.
Also not working is me. Well, that's not true at all. I'm the opposite of not working. I'm working too damn much. All the time really. And working doesn't work for me. In fact, I've been relying on work, well, money, for half my life and it (work) really sucks. I think I've given it the good old college try and it's not for me.
You know what is for me? You. And your money.
Why should I deny it? We're both adults here.
You have all that fantastic Murder She Wrote money. You may still have some of that Manchurian Candidate money. I have all this explosive sexual charisma. ALL OF IT.
(What do you have left from Bedknobs and Broomsticks, you saucy little minx? ;) )
But I digress, you know how it is: true love doesn't exist. Or it does, but then it marries Ryan Reynolds because she can't accept the strength of her feelings and would rather just blahblahblahblah...
You're of the age to know that life is disappointment and pain and everyone lets you down and sometimes even runs off with Johnny Depp, because whothehellknows? And I know all that too.
Nihilism isn't depressing; it's liberating. It frees us from the traditional thought processes that hold the little people back.
That's what makes us a good match. Because we know that what matters is the here and now, particularly since you're nearing the end of the line. And what's the point of having all that money and NOT all of this explosive sexual charisma? And then what's the point of having all this sexy of mine without having any money?
I probably should have warned you that was about to happen. Sorry.
So, my proposal is this:
We get hitched, quickly, confidentially, (after opening a joint bank account between us that we put all your money in) and in the presence of pillars of the community to guarantee you have done this of your own free will.
And then I give you all the sexy I can muster. And the plan will be to give you the best damn send-off in the history of sex-death. You go out with a bang and I go out with, um, your stuff. And that's all it is, really. Just stuff. To me. But you'll be getting the experience. And I think anyone who's anyone will tell you that experiences are more valuable than things.
Unless those people are people who have law school debt, and then they'll tell you to do anything you can (ANYTHING) to pay that crap off.
But anyway, what's finally spurred me to be flat-out honest with you actually has to do with you. I was watching a rerun "Caroline in the City"
Don't judge me! It was part of Must See TV Thursday on NBC! I've already admitted I'm in a low place!
and one of the characters said, "The old lady in Murder She Wrote never thinks it's her fault, but every time she goes to dinner parties, someone dies. After a while, you've got to think, 'Hey!'"
It dawned on me; I've done all the right things: I went to college; I served in the army; I went to law school; I went to Afghanistan to be responsible and pay off as much of my debt as I could; I'm a loyal and trustworthy friend; I help the needy and less fortunate.
I finally have to accept that I'm doing something wrong, because you know what doing everything "right" has gotten me?
A big, old, steaming pile of jack-squat.
What's left of my hopes and dreams
My celebrity loves keep spurning me for talentless hacks;
Tell me Transcendence and Green Lantern wouldn't have been 200 times better with a pudgy smart ass (me) in the lead role
I'm not making it "farther" along in my career (which I hate);
If you haven't felt this, you're still in school
A country that celebrates these turd nuggets
and the sands keep pouring out.
Bill and Ted are geniuses compared to the "LOLZ" kids I see today. There needs to be a new word for Sad.
I'm turning 35 later this month. That's a relatively big deal. That's what Dante pegged as halfway to death:
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
So, yeah, Alighieri turned 35 and went to hell. I don't wanna do that, I gotta change things up. No more shooting for insanely hot ingenues. I gotta go the other direction.
Instead of running away from mortality and failure by chasing youth, I need to attack death, rush it headlong, show it I ain't scared, or even if I'm scared, I don't give a tinker's dam!
Which, admittedly, is a lot less impressive a pronouncement when you see what one of those actually is. Hell, you can have all my Tinker's Dams. No sweat off my back.
But, look, I don't want you thinking that I've just randomly selected you just because you were recently in the news for getting a title from the queen.
No, I've been a fan for a long time. I would even go so far to say I'm your number one fan.
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I don't brag about my looks often, but definitely better me than Kathy Bates; just saying.
You may not know this, but I play bar trivia.
A lot of it. I don't mean I play every week. I mean I play multiple times a week, and the nights I don't play, I kinda feel like I should be out playing trivia. And my number one team? Yes, that's right, I named it "Angela Lansbury's Vagina", because it's classy, but naughty, and it often comes out on top at the end of the night.
Really? All of this and that's what was "Too much!"?
I had to tell you that because I don't want you thinking I came up with this out of nowhere. I think about you a lot. Yeah, that kinda thinking about you. But I also worry about how you're, you know, going to die soon. But it's okay. It can all be brought together in one glorious send off!
I think by this point, you can see this really is about us helping each other. I want the best for you. I also want the best for me. This needs to happen for any number of reasons, preferrably millions (of pounds sterling).
Sex and death are intimately entwined; always have been, always will be. Hell, the French call an orgasm "La Petite Morte" ("A little death"). You're British; you don't want to let those frogs have the last word. You should have "The Big Death"; hell, why not "The Biggest Death"? I want to give that to you.
Pip pip cheerio! The Queen is Dead! God Save the Queen! Til Oblivion, My Love!
With Eternal Affection,
Ajax Carpenter
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