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An open letter to Jason Segel

June 19, 2010

[So I really liked Dirty Hippie’s last post (hello wife!), and it inspired me to think about other F&G stars who are failing me right now, namely, Jason Segel]

Dear Jason,

I really like you. In case you aren’t a regular DBIH follower, we’re all pretty convinced that you and I are going to get married. I love puppets. Snuffalufagus, par exemple, fucks my shit up. I think your piano playing is awesome and I love your songs. We could even harmonize! No joke.

Also, we are both Jews. You might be thinking, “Well, in that case I should go for Tall, because she’s my height!” NO! Do not do that. Tall always forgets that she’s half Jewish. That means that she will always forget about Hanukah and she will definitely forget about Sukkot. Think of all the awesome fun we could have doing puppet shows in a sukkah!

That’s right: Jesus is not “just alright” with either of us! SO MUCH IN COMMON!

BUT (but!), Peter, you really suck right now. Seriously. What the fuck. You are breaking my heart. First there was this:

You probably have crabs now. Please get them checked out before anything magical can happen between us. I don’t want creepy crawlies down there. But, I do like your puppet. That’s why I MIGHT be willing to give you a post-Lindsay Lohan chance.

Then there’s this really stupid fucking ugly haircut. You look like a ruh-tard. That’s right, a ruh-tard. Hair like that might have worked for Nick Andopolis, but he was a drummer and drummer’s need good hair to shake around when they are rocking out. I know this because when I play Rock Band I like to shake my head around. Then I get dizzy and I have to stop.

Look at this guy. No wait, don't.

Thus, so we can truly be together, please get back to awesome, Confrontation-singing, non-Lindsay Lohan banging, cool-hair (Good for you Pete) having Jason Segel. Then we can ride off into the friscallating dusklight together.

In conclusion: I AM WARNING YOU, JAVERT. I’M THE STRONGER MAN BY FAR. THERE IS POWER IN ME YET, THIS RACE IS NOT YET WON.

xx (this is what they do in the London, no hugs, only kisses),

Afrika

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