Letter to Kate Beckinsale

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Dear Ms. Beckinsale,

Yes, I refer to you as “Ms.” because I loosely consider you married.  Let’s be perfectly honest, your husband, director Len Wiseman, directed you in “Underworld”, which was only a success because you were involved.  He’s not talented.  Anyone can throw a smoking hot Brit such as yourself in a leather vampire suit and watch the dollars roll in. 

Me, I’ve been a fan of yours for many years.  I’m much more dedicated to you than Mr. Wiseman.  Hell, I sat through almost three hours of “Pearl Harbor” just for you.  I stood up and clapped for your Diet Coke commercials, even though my own wife told me to sit down. 

The point is Kate, (can I call you Kate?) it’s tough in this world to find true love.  I’m convinced I’m yours.  I may not be producing  the next twenty-three editions of “Twilight”, but I’m an all-around swell guy, and I can sear a steak to perfection.  I’m sorry, are you a vegetarian?  Who cares.  Just look me up when you get near Chicago.  I’m a great time.  Ow.  My wife just hit me, really hard.  I’ve got to go.

Hugs and kisses, 

Mad Dog

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