Taylor,
Maybe that's too informal for me to be with a woman worth approximately a quarter billion dollars when I'm working at a success ranking (out of the 7 billion humans on this planet) of "blech". Hmmm.
Miss Swift,
No, that's not right. Because my being over a decade older than you makes that come across as, I dunno, like some substitute-teacher-who-lives-at-his-parents'-house-and-only-got-his-teaching-certificate-so-he-can-find-a-way-too-young-girlfriend-and-then-stop-substituting-so-he-won't-go-to-jail-like-some-sort-of-proto-tinder-life-hack-for-pedo-creeps.
Crap. Maybe I shouldn't have brought any of that up. I definitely shouldn't have. Let's start over.
TAYLOR SWIFT!
Much better. Not weird at all.
Okay. I feel like this is going to be hard to explain, but it really shouldn't be.
You're really good looking and, by pretty much every standard, very good at what you do. I'm not necessarily either of those things, at least not by every standard. I will say, by some standards, I'm flipping amazeballs, but, you know, others, not so much...let's move past this.
Anyways, I'll cut to the chase rather jarringly. We should just go ahead and get married.
I mean, the main reasons are self-evident: I've already explained why I'm great when I wrote the letter to Blake or Melanie; and I explained how comfortable I am with taking a back seat to my lady's career in my letter to Amber, and I've already shown the degree that I'm willing to satisfy a lady (I think we can all agree that the ultimate degree is sex-death) in my letter to Angie, and I even admitted that I like my women to be ridiculously, pathologically, terrifyingly, mesmerizingly crazy in my letter to Rosie. I mean, swap out their names with yours, and everything still works. I'm great, you can lead, I will do whatever it takes to make you happy (WHATEVER IT TAKES), and, hey, if you get "passionate", great.
I figured it out! I know what I can offer to you, specifically: I haven't offered to go guano crazy for a lady yet.
Look, what you need is someone who's crazy so you have something to write about, but who's not actually crazy so that your life doesn't suck. It doesn't do to be a quarter-of-a-billionairess and still sorta miserable. Basically, you need someone with imagination to spare, but a moral code to keep from actually doing awful things. That's me in a nutshell.
Look, I grew up around a sociopath. That means that to survive, I had to basically learn to become an expert in people-games. I will screw with your head so bad you won't know which way is up. When I say I will play games, I'll do it, not to be hurtful (because *I'm* not a sociopath), but to keep things exciting for you.
Normal guys, even the celebrities you've had dalliances with, the best they're going to do is be asshats. Jake, Harry, John, etc... They'll be charming for a bit, get what they want, and then give you the cold shoulder. Some might string you along by lying.
Yawn.
That's ho-hum. That's ordinary. That's boring.
I'm offering next level here. Hell, not even next level...I'm offering orders of magnitude beyond bewilderment. I'll have you kidnapped and held in a dungeon (well, not really; you'll be perfectly safe but you won't know that).
I'll burn down our house (not often, because you're not made of money, but enough times so that my doing it is upsetting).
I won't have sex with you.
Oh, the sex I won't have with you; it'll drive you crazy.
All those millions of men (hell, women too) who want to get in your pants, and I'll just shrug my shoulders and sip on a scotch when or if you bring up the subject.
That alone will infuriate you to a degree you won't be able to fathom until I drop that on you. I can't wait not to have sex with you.
I'll flirt with your mom. Hell, I'll flirt with your dad. I'll make your dog like me more.
When I'm not doing any of that, I will be the most charming, imaginative, considerate son of a bitch you've ever been around,
until the moment there's anyone else to witness us, and then I'll fart louder than cannon fire, and chew with my mouth open, and talk about porn ecstatically.
Oh, the embarrassment I'll be for you. Your friends will think you've lost your damn mind. But you'll know the truth.
And your fans will too. Because you know that all this emotional terrorism is going to keep you churning out hits well into our having grandchildren (the songs you're going to write about in-vitro because of my not having sex with you but insisting on seven children, minimum, are going to win you ALL the Grammies). There's going to be no Madonna tailspin to your career where you just try to figure out what the kids are into nowadays and jump into that.
Trust me, your life is going to be a mother-flippin' trainwreck and no one will be able to look away. Ever.
I'm promising you DECADES of insecurity and confusion and angst.
Has anyone else ever made that promise to you? No. Has anyone else ever even thought of making that promise to you? Of course not. Because they're boring and have poor imaginations and they're not right for you. Only I am.
You have all the money in the world to be able to buy anything you want. But if money could buy happiness, you'd have done it by now. The only thing you can't buy is the one thing I can give you: amazing, intoxicating, super-duper crazy. And that amazing, intoxicating, super-duper crazy will make you happier than you can imagine. I promise.
See you soon,
Ajax Carpenter
Maybe that's too informal for me to be with a woman worth approximately a quarter billion dollars when I'm working at a success ranking (out of the 7 billion humans on this planet) of "blech". Hmmm.
Miss Swift,
No, that's not right. Because my being over a decade older than you makes that come across as, I dunno, like some substitute-teacher-who-lives-at-his-parents'-house-and-only-got-his-teaching-certificate-so-he-can-find-a-way-too-young-girlfriend-and-then-stop-substituting-so-he-won't-go-to-jail-like-some-sort-of-proto-tinder-life-hack-for-pedo-creeps.
 |
| Of course he's holding up a foot-long. |
Crap. Maybe I shouldn't have brought any of that up. I definitely shouldn't have. Let's start over.
TAYLOR SWIFT!
Much better. Not weird at all.
Okay. I feel like this is going to be hard to explain, but it really shouldn't be.
You're really good looking and, by pretty much every standard, very good at what you do. I'm not necessarily either of those things, at least not by every standard. I will say, by some standards, I'm flipping amazeballs, but, you know, others, not so much...let's move past this.
Anyways, I'll cut to the chase rather jarringly. We should just go ahead and get married.
I mean, the main reasons are self-evident: I've already explained why I'm great when I wrote the letter to Blake or Melanie; and I explained how comfortable I am with taking a back seat to my lady's career in my letter to Amber, and I've already shown the degree that I'm willing to satisfy a lady (I think we can all agree that the ultimate degree is sex-death) in my letter to Angie, and I even admitted that I like my women to be ridiculously, pathologically, terrifyingly, mesmerizingly crazy in my letter to Rosie. I mean, swap out their names with yours, and everything still works. I'm great, you can lead, I will do whatever it takes to make you happy (WHATEVER IT TAKES), and, hey, if you get "passionate", great.
I figured it out! I know what I can offer to you, specifically: I haven't offered to go guano crazy for a lady yet.
Look, what you need is someone who's crazy so you have something to write about, but who's not actually crazy so that your life doesn't suck. It doesn't do to be a quarter-of-a-billionairess and still sorta miserable. Basically, you need someone with imagination to spare, but a moral code to keep from actually doing awful things. That's me in a nutshell.
Look, I grew up around a sociopath. That means that to survive, I had to basically learn to become an expert in people-games. I will screw with your head so bad you won't know which way is up. When I say I will play games, I'll do it, not to be hurtful (because *I'm* not a sociopath), but to keep things exciting for you.
 | |
| But, like, no candles, because molten wax hurts. I mean, I hear. And stuff. |
Yawn.
That's ho-hum. That's ordinary. That's boring.
I'm offering next level here. Hell, not even next level...I'm offering orders of magnitude beyond bewilderment. I'll have you kidnapped and held in a dungeon (well, not really; you'll be perfectly safe but you won't know that).
.jpg) |
| What's the worst thing that can happen in a turkish prison? |
I'll burn down our house (not often, because you're not made of money, but enough times so that my doing it is upsetting).
 |
| And the candle smells great too! |
I won't have sex with you.
Oh, the sex I won't have with you; it'll drive you crazy.
All those millions of men (hell, women too) who want to get in your pants, and I'll just shrug my shoulders and sip on a scotch when or if you bring up the subject.
That alone will infuriate you to a degree you won't be able to fathom until I drop that on you. I can't wait not to have sex with you.
I'll flirt with your mom. Hell, I'll flirt with your dad. I'll make your dog like me more.
When I'm not doing any of that, I will be the most charming, imaginative, considerate son of a bitch you've ever been around,
 |
| And Suave |
until the moment there's anyone else to witness us, and then I'll fart louder than cannon fire, and chew with my mouth open, and talk about porn ecstatically.
 |
| Sexy, right? |
Oh, the embarrassment I'll be for you. Your friends will think you've lost your damn mind. But you'll know the truth.
And your fans will too. Because you know that all this emotional terrorism is going to keep you churning out hits well into our having grandchildren (the songs you're going to write about in-vitro because of my not having sex with you but insisting on seven children, minimum, are going to win you ALL the Grammies). There's going to be no Madonna tailspin to your career where you just try to figure out what the kids are into nowadays and jump into that.
 |
| MDNA or whatever. Yeah, very cool. Sure. Please don't hurt me, Madge. |
Trust me, your life is going to be a mother-flippin' trainwreck and no one will be able to look away. Ever.
 |
| I mean, what if I drugged you and you woke up from secret surgery looking like the departed Miss Smith? That's gotta be AT LEAST a couple albums, right, Sweetie? |
I'm promising you DECADES of insecurity and confusion and angst.
Has anyone else ever made that promise to you? No. Has anyone else ever even thought of making that promise to you? Of course not. Because they're boring and have poor imaginations and they're not right for you. Only I am.
You have all the money in the world to be able to buy anything you want. But if money could buy happiness, you'd have done it by now. The only thing you can't buy is the one thing I can give you: amazing, intoxicating, super-duper crazy. And that amazing, intoxicating, super-duper crazy will make you happier than you can imagine. I promise.
See you soon,
Ajax Carpenter
