See, the thing is, I think you’re an asshole. I’ve thought that for quite some time (years, in fact), but I never got around to telling you that, or telling you why I think you’re an asshole. No time like the present.
Roughly a quarter century ago, my daughter, who was a little girl at the time, used to watch you on that dumbass talking car show. She didn’t think it was a dumbass show, but that’s because she was a child. Anyway, she was quite star struck, so much so that she decided to write you a fan letter. Believing I was wise in most matters, as little girls are wont to believe, she asked me if I thought that writing you a letter was a good idea.
I told her that it was a great idea, and I even went so far as to suggest that she request a photo. I told her that she would probably hear from you. What I didn’t tell her is that I knew that people such as you, with a hit TV show that had a particular appeal to children, get lots of letters from admiring, young fans and that people like you had someone (perhaps an agency) routinely respond to such letters.
She happily worked on her letter and even asked me to look it over. I told her it was a terrific letter, because it was. We mailed her letter, and, of course, she dutifully checked the mail every day for a response. Days, then weeks went by, and when it became apparent that she would not receive a response, I told her that you were probably very, very busy, but that you, no doubt, appreciated hearing from her. I did not tell her that I had concluded that you are an asshole.
Now, she’s well educated and all grown up, so I’m certain that she realizes that dads sometimes have to shade the truth to spare their little girl’s feelings. I’m also certain that, being all grown up and being particularly bright, she thinks you’re an asshole.
Do I hold a grudge? Damned straight, asshole.
Very truly yours,
Parkway Rest Stop
P.S. I’d sooner shovel shit than listen to you sing anything, much less the National Anthem.