Oh, Emmy Awesome, how I count the moments in between our meetings with such sweet sorry. I’m at infinity and still counting, but I never give up hope that someday you’ll see the light and realize that my insane levels of passion for your sextastic are the highest form of flattery. If only I could actually get paid for that.
I’d like to think that Emmy’s poking headlights in Hollywood over the weekend are a sign that she’s been reading my letters. I actually form them to work on multiple levels, she could just smell them and imbue my intentions. Yes, Emmy, lime green tank top nipple pokes. I am receiving your message loud and clear. Well, I might need to adjust the knobs just a tad. I promise, this won’t hurt. Enjoy.