An Open (and Way Funnier) Letter to Chris Evans
This is SATIRE. I will say it again: this is a parody. It is meant to be humorous because I needed a laugh while staring at the bonfire of my social yesterday.
Itβs been a weekβ¦or whatever. Honestly, Iβm so exhausted by hearing about you experiencing average human life that I donβt know what day it is anymore. How dare you. I have very limited brain power and bad knees, so the number of times Iβve had to get up and walk away from my computer or phone is criminal. Iβm holding you personally responsible because thatβs obviously an accurate assessment of fault in this moment.
I have one, very personal, highly inappropriate thing that I deserve to know about you since you exist for our entertainment.
This question has plagued me for the many years Iβve been a fan desperately trying to avoid knowing fuck-all about your real life because I thought it wasnβt my business. I was clearly wrong, and for that I apologize. Iβll be sure to dial up my crazy in the future.
Chris, if I may be so bold.
Did you have a decent and professional waxologist for your work on Captain America: The First Avenger?
I have lain awake at night for a decade worried that someone 40-Year-Old Virgined you, and no one deserves that. This is something I cannot go back to my gremlin hole without knowing, so my life is in your hands now. Donβt fail me.
Quit saying you arenβt a cat guy, you lying sack of shit!
You probably stare out into nature and watch the fucking birds. You probably get random bursts of energy that annoy the crap out of other people in the room. Tap dancing is the equivalent of making biscuits on someoneβs eardrums and then just jumping away.
You know that Scott is the human equivalent of a catβright down to the contemplation of murder all the time and purposefully scaring the living daylights out of you at every opportunityβand you love that guy.
Youβre a dog and cat guy, bro. Check yourself.
ONE OTHER THING (likely followed by nine other other things that definitely have to do with you).
How the every-loving fuck have you found time to date? Best I can do is work up the energy to text my friend βkill meβ once a week, and you went out there and like tried to make someone like you?!?
Now Iβm even more exhausted.
Look, I know you sold your soul long ago to still be hot and have energy past the age of forty, dickhead. We get it. You survive off the ignorance we shed on your βeducationalβ and βeasy to use,β βnon-partisanβ website that just may make American less shitty again, but I will repeat: how dare you.
I donβt like being reminded Iβm lazy, I donβt like when people tell me something isnβt my businessβexcept donβt ask what my business is because fuck you,βand since I donβt like those things, I shouldnβt ever, ever have to deal with them.
You need to respond to this entirely random and useless commentary about your life from a person you donβt know and will never meet.
And just so you know, I will be waiting for that response because I have nothing better to do with my time or life.
P.S. Iβm beginning to think that Canadian attack with a mustache photo was well-deserved, but Iβm still so traumatized that that thing grew on your face, I will not be mentioning it. Only in the postscript. Because no one reads the postscript and every opinion I have is 100% valid and accurate.