I have been in (whorish lust) love with you ever since I watched the movie, "Something About You" with Ashley Judd. The moment I saw you in those boxer briefs, I knew we were meant to be, Hugh. Your smartass humor in the film and obvious intelligence only sweetened the deal your (huge package) smile promised me. And only me.
However, I must write to express a concern. I watched you on Oprah Live, last Friday & noticed something startling, Hugh. You glowed. Like a pumpkin on Halloween. You were orange, Hugh. The picture I've included doesn't really show just -how- orange, but I wanted to call you my sweet potata.
Wolverine cannot be orange, Hugh. You are naked and almost full monty in the film, or so I hear. You need to be a color not found in a box of Crayola. Please quit taking the dickhole advice of your minions when they tell you that a spray tan is where it's at. Tell them that you're the sexiest man alive and to shut their man pleaser, Hugh. For the sake of my happiness & because it will be stipulated in the prenup, I must insist you always look like this:
P.S. You can keep the Wolverine facial hair - I like a lil tickle on my thighs.
All my love,
Your future alimony payment
You're not really that handsome. It's just that you're so naughty. So delightfully filthy. Shamelessly trailer trash. You look like the best all night ride at the rodeo. Yeehaw, giddy-up Mr. Cock!!
But please quit getting arrested at Waffle House, Kid. Your mug shots are taking the big poo on my pornofantasies.
P. Mama, Yo.
I confess to not loving you enough to watch that flop trilogy you did with the hobbits. However, you deserve an award (Oscar) for having the 'balls' to do this film not only completely naked but.. limp. You're a star, Viggo. You could have demanded a fluffer. You could have also demanded someone (dreadlock) trim that Amazon bush down yonder.
P.S. Call me when you've got that (weed whacked) managed.