My Dearest Kate,
As you are well aware, it’s been nearly two years since we first laid eyes on your barely legal form and wanted to do many barely legal things to your bouncy blonde and bodacious body. That’s two years of intense feelings, unrequited passions, and more dirty gym socks than even Jerry Sandusky could smell in one Saturday evening private party sitting. In short, it’s been rough.
Now, you go and do this. A Twitpic of your epic cleavage barely contained in your bra behind the scenes of your V-magazine shoot. And that face. Oh, that face. The kind we would want you to pretend to make as we moved from tube sock on floor to tube steak in heaven, as we become as one, like two shooting stars colliding in a cosmic explosion of light and anti-matter and reproductive juices.
Kate Upton, we’re calling you out. You’re hurting many men, and Sapphic leaning women, all innocent victims in your sextastic visual wars. No, we don’t want you to stop, we want you to show us your bare funbags and let us exit this world with a smile. Enjoy.