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September 12, 2007

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.


E-mail #1

Subject line: (no subject)

if i can i have britneys real adress id be sooo happy

Dear Friend,

My deepest apologies for holding out on you, but it took a great many covert operations, stolen embraces, and bended-knee pleading (in a tux!) to get that overprotected information. It wasn't easy on my conscience -- I left a lot of dazed, vigorously hugged people in my wake, walking around bumping into walls with silly grins on their faces and flowers tucked into their hair. And trust me, the crazy sight of Kevin Federline plucking thorns from a rose before affixing the blossom to his do-rag is not something I'll soon forget. So forgive me, fellow believer -- ordinarily I would be a slave for you, but I can't release such sensitive information to rival fan clubs in case other people's intentions are more toxic than mine. But I'm sending her over a bundt cake and some Noxzema with one of those musical Hallmark cards (it plays the Dallas theme song, which makes my heart sing on a blue day), so I'll include a note about how much you want to hug her, baby, one more time.

Not a girl, not yet a woman,

G


E-mail #2

Subject line: jealous

ease up on my girl bai ling. she is every mans ideal woman. I AM SICK IN LOVE WITH BAI LING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. I THINK YOU ARE JEALOUS. dont worry, not all white guys drool over her-just the straight ones!

Dear Friend,

It's true that I'll never fill out hot pants and a bustier quite like Bai Ling. And what Earthly soul wouldn't sit awake in bed hugging naught but his or her knees -- gazing out the window like Little Orphan Annie on another hopeless eve under Miss Hannigan's thumb -- and wondering why blessed Bai got 19 personalities that look great in tutus and we all only get one? But I dispute that she's every man's ideal woman. I was born to cradle the world in my healing embrace. How could I fulfill that destiny that with sprightly Bai? To quote the nuns in another great movie musical, how do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you keep a wave upon the sand? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? My mortal arms were made for squeezes; she is the Milky Way, and I'm just a man on the ground staring up at the night sky. Perhaps we could comfort each other in our mutually futile quests?

Weeping now for what will never be,

G


E-mail #3

Subject line: (no subject)

does nicole ritie have a sister

Dear Friend,

For this one, I let my fingers do the walking and my arms do the talking! I arrived on Mrs. Ritie's doorstep yesterday afternoon, and after we revived her, it took but one dose of my warming wingspan to get the information you need: No, she hasn't been off her feet all day and yes, she would love a cup of tea and a foot rub; no, she doesn't completely feel appreciated by her children for the fact that she irons their bedsheets and pillowcases after washing them; yes, she'd love it if I'd whip up an elegant dinner she can pretend she made so that her husband stops complaining about eating so Lean Pockets for supper; yes, she does love her four sons even when they get into the cookie jar and feed stale baked goods dipped in salad dressing to the dog; yes, the dog is going to be just fine now that they've pumped its stomach; and, no, her daughter Nicole Ritie does not have a sister, because she got her tubes tied after the last time her youngest child hung from the ceiling fan while the oldest turned it up to "High."

I hope this helps. Thank you for giving me such a cherished mission, by the way; I scored a wicked recipe for lemon bars and a mocha souffle.

Baked with pride,

G


E-mail #4

Subject line: coolio

thats fo nay!!!!!

Dear Friend,

A CODE! Good fun! Let's see... it's probably an anagram, so... "Fat, stony? Ha!" No, that doesn't seem right.  How about,  "Hat fonts? Ay!" Or, "Any hot, fast?" Hmm, that might be closer, because I am a purveyor of hugs of all speeds and temperatures. Oh, I love jokes and games -- thanks for this divine japery! It's just what I needed after I failed to unite E-mailer #3 with the Ritie family child of his dreams. Go outside and look to the east. Open your arms. Do you feel that? Good! Assuming none of nature's creatures took you for their enemy during this moment of meditation, you should be able to sense my aura. Feel the breeze envelop you as I would.

I'm like the wind,

G

Posted by Heather at 06:17 AM in Intern George | Permalink

 

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