JJ Abrams is a nice guy. He granted a dying man’s last wish and arranged for a private screening of an early cut of Star Trek into Darkness for him. I mean, c’mon, what a mensch. Which is why I’m sure after he reads the following letter, he’ll allow me to get to read the new draft of Michael Arndt’s Star Wars Episode VII script.
I am suffering from an affliction. An affliction of the sexually transmitted variety. I won’t get into specifics of which one, but let’s just say that it’s visible, it’s red and it burns. How did I get this? That’s not important. I was young. I was innocent. I was naive. But it’s a problem. I wear this scarlet letter upon my face, alienating any single girls who may want to go out on the weekends. Because let’s face it: No one wants to date the Hot Zone. So basically I’m saying I’ve got some time on my hands. Time that could very well be spent reading the draft of your next movie, Star Wars Episode VII.
The Make-A-Wish people have been giving me the heave-ho when it comes to this. Like, oh sure, they have a monopoly on wishes all of a sudden. Well I have a wish, JJ. Or, actually I have two. One) That I didn’t believe the woman from the former Yugoslavia staying in my hostel that those things on her lips weren’t contagious. And two) That now that my social life is dead, I get to read what will hopefully be the best Star Wars narrative told since 1983.
Thank you for your time.
P.S. Sorry again about Six Degrees.