In honor of the lovely Kate Gosselin's debut on Dancing with the Stars last night, here's a recent favorite. The offer's still open, my darling.
"And Now, an Open Letter To Kate Gosselin" (Originally Published, 8.27.09)
You don't know me, but I felt like I just had to reach out to you after watching your appearance on Larry King Live a few nights ago. I know you've been through a lot over the past several months: the cruel tabloid headlines, the negative assumptions about you, the betrayal, the impending divorce, seeing your estranged husband cavorting with whores in Ed Hardy t-shirts, your kids' refusal to sit the hell down and shut up when Mommy tells them to, people making fun of your haircut -- I know it's all been eating you alive inside and turning your well-established sense of self upside down. It's hurt me for so long to watch you held up for public ridicule -- to see the once-vainglorious Kate Gosselin reduced to groveling for mercy in the face of those who would take joy in knocking you from the pedestal you so richly deserve to sit atop. But when you looked right into Larry King's lifeless eyes (an act of incredible bravery in itself) and told him, "I'm lonely," well, that was all I could take.
I know you're in pain, Kate.
I know you feel like no one understands.
But I need you to know something -- I do.
That's why, right here and now, I want to tell you that there's someone in this world who gets you completely, who loves you entirely -- and who wants to be with you forever.
A little about myself: I'm a 39-year-old underemployed writer and journalist with over ten years experience -- on and off -- dealing with women like yourself, Kate. Women others would call, well, let's just say "difficult." (Only the crassest and most Philistine would refer to your kind by that other word.) And let me be clear: When I say that I know how to "deal" with you, that's in no way meant to imply that I have an intact spine and would be willing to make an effective stand against you should I feel that you were trampling me underfoot and crushing my fragile ego. On the contrary, you can consider me already very well housebroken -- an easily malleable lump of human wet clay that will never so much as raise his voice to you when you publicly emasculate him for not picking out the right paint color for the living room or maybe rubbing your feet clockwise instead of counter-clockwise at the end of the day.
Life with me would be the Kate Show all the way. My balls are well accustomed to that particularly cold area at the back of the refrigerator anyway; why break with tradition?
Speaking of shows, I have a couple of children of my own. Just think of the possibilities: Kate and WHO? + 8 + 2. It would be like The Brady Bunch for Generation Meth.
I even think you're really hot. No joke. You're a total babe. I don't even think it's important that you, for once, stand up straight.
Katie, my sweet, you don't have to be lonely anymore. I ask only that you please think about my offer. I honestly believe that if you give it a little serious consideration, you'll come to the only possible conclusion -- that I'm the man for you. I have the skill, the will, and, most importantly, the complete lack of self-respect in the face of a spiteful woman -- and I'm totally ready to be the next Mr. Kate Gosselin.
Hey, I used to produce for Ashleigh Banfield.
I Love You,
Chez : )
(For entertainment purposes only. Not meant to either A) endear myself to Kate Gosselin, or B) cast aspersion on anyone who's been in my life over the past decade or so -- except maybe Banfield.)