December 26, 2006
When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.
Subject line: hi
hi hilary. I think.Just wanted to say that u r my biggest fan
This was a wonderful, soul-tingling surprise. Because you know what, sweet snacktoast? I am your biggest fan, and I'm not sure how you knew to trust my willing arms, but in this crazy mixed-up world of hate and hunger, I am so thankful you could close your eyes and shove it away and see only a steaming, juicy platter of me, your Hilary. Indeed, it matters not what you call me. The heart needs no label but the one that says, "Open."
Enter at will,
Subject Line: Thx
Thx for the tip.Your blog is great I like the celebrity section.
Keep visiting my blog.
It's funny, isn't it, how some days we all like to hide behind talking about a blog -- when what we're really saying is, "You know what, friend? I'm feeling vulnerable, and I need the kind of hug that will make me feel like the star of your movie. Please, nugget, don't foresake me. I need you now more than ever before." So don't run, gentle dumpling. My casting couch is one of hugs and honesty. Let me direct your movie with my sturdy arms.
Subject Line: about a boy named ryan
dear fergie, why is this bo0y chetting on me beacas he said your hot so now we broke up from your falt.thank you fergie
Dear Broken Friend,
My heart aches for you, gentle wonder! When confronting the traitor that unwittingly clasped your trust in his manly, moisturized mitts and then gave it hives from all the perfumes in his luxe creams, you actually signed off with a mannerly thank you to the careless caregiver! O, curses! Damn my warming, welcome embrace! A pox on these open arms! It's the cruelest fate that the greatest gift I have could be used against someone so pure.
You tell that boy that the promise of a supportive squeeze from a lifelong friend like me is no excuse to act a cad. You tell him you're worth more than his weak affections. And then you get RIGHT on over here and let me soothe you the only way I know how: against my restorative pecs.
Hurtin' hearts need some hugging,
Subject Line: Poor george
I just wanted to offer my condolences to Intern George for the loss of his best friend. Maybe he should get a foot rub today.
So many beautiful fug huggers sent messages of worry and support during this trying time. This generosity of spirit reached out and fondled my grief with its medicinal digits, and I got off the table after a full emotional release feeling newly hopeful.
Life will not be the same without Max -- to borrow from Charlotte, the spider whose eight legs can create a safe place as divine as any human hugspace, Max was Some Pig. And although I grieve for his porcine snuggles, the best therapy short of hugging myself, there is a silver lining: I lost my best pig, but I gained so many other life partners in you all.
I'm welling up. The Cup of George runneth over; this holiday season I will do nothing but meditate upon your kindness, sending hug after virtual hug into the ether. Pluck one. Stuff it with cheese. Then wrap it in kisses.
Happiest of holidays to you, the balm to my gloom.
Thank you for saving my bacon,