A Letter to a Modern-Day Adonis

Dear Charlie Hunnam,

As I have stated in my post title above, you, Charlie, are a modern-day Adonis, and so must be the recipient of my latest letter. Kudos to you.

It is true, you are best known as the tortured soul Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, and while I have not been privy to much of your other work, I do believe the multitude of sex scenes with delectable ass shots in SOA may have had something to do with that. (It’s like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream…) I must admit, there are very few nude males that I would gladly torment my eyes with, (as I am very much a boob gal, and do so adore a good titty display) but you, kind sir, are welcome to remain naked in front of my vision indefinitely.

It is still a bit disturbing to me that you hale from Newcastle upon Tyne. As well-read as I am, I had no idea what the fuck that meant, but investigated enough to find that it was somewhere in England. Cheeri-o, mate! I actually hope to never hear your original accent, which I assume is British, because you seem to be so down-to-earth and not at all pompous as generally English people tend to be. However, if you ever decide you wish to share your man-meat with me in a carnal fashion, I will allow you to adopt whatever foreign crappy accent you deem appropriate. Just know that I am not quite certain what my reaction may be if I hear, “Tha’ wus fookin’ gright, love.” after we’ve spent ourselves. I may be forced to shut you up by sitting on your not-quite-shaven face.

You may be delighted to know, too, that even my very straight Rockstar has taken notice of your perfectly-sculpted physique. He does not blame you in the least for incessantly posting shirtless pictures of yourself on your official Facebook page. “After working out like hell to look like that, can you blame him?” were his exact words. I think you may just have a chance with him…

I seem to recall having watched a little-known movie a few years back starring you, in which, I’m sure, you were superb. Sadly, I do not recall you being naked, and so it was not noteworthy. Do not get me wrong, oh Gorgeous One- you need not be bare-assed for me to adore you. I can prove it is true by saying I’ve had two dreams in which you starred, neither of which you were nude in. (Sadly.) I must ask: why weren’t you naked in my dreams? I mean, for real. What the fuck?!

I do not think you are aware of my ….fetish for long-haired men. Let me only say that when your hair is of a shorter ilk, I would not so readily do you. But, if you were there lying naked in my bed, I suppose I could lower my standards a tad so as not to waste a good boner.

I applaud you for turning down the role of Christian Grey in the movie version of Fifty Shades. As beautiful as you are, not even you could have saved it from sucking balls. Although, if you had retained the role, I would have, of course, rushed out to buy the DVD no matter how terrible the film was, if only to see you shirtless and spanking someone. Do not be discouraged. I will write for you a well-written smutty book that can be turned into the biggest blockbuster of all time.

In closing, I would like to say that you, Charlie Hunnam, have almost cured me of my insane love for Christopher Meloni; I haven’t dreamed of him since you came into the picture.

Always yours, (even if it is only in my dreams)

Sparklebumps XOXO

 

Open Letter To Despicable You, Dr. Tara Knowles

Oh most vile and detestable of all fictional television characters, Tara Knowles,

(Otherwise known as Jax’s love interest in Sons of Anarchy)

Let me begin by saying that I have loathed you from the first. First episode, first sighting, first monstrous scowl.

I began watching Sons of Anarchy as I suppose many fans have- on Netflix. I can say from the very first episode, I abhorred you and your self-righteous attitude. I might add that too, I have repudiated the forehead crease that is forever present on your bitchy face. It is because of said crease, and not your unlikable self that I have long wished that a ghastly and atrocious demise might have visited you in the first season, and then second, and third, and so on. Sadly, we can’t all have what we wish for, now can we, Dr. Knowles? Hmmmm?

I understand your desire to be forever united nakedly with your equally fictional love interest, Jax Teller. After all, he is quite easy on the eyes, and his character, though questionably written, is endearing and sweet. However, you should know by now that you cause him (to almost quote Sinnead O’Connor) more sorrow alive than you would dead. It seems harsh, I know, but think on it for a moment- if you were to meet an untimely death by, say having a runaway van run over your head, the next episode might find Jax seeking comfort in the puss of some woman much hotter than you, and you could still be afforded an open-casket funeral, since tire tracks across your face would blend in quite nicely with the significant wrinkle already between your eyebrows.

Instead of being an acceptable Old Lady to your hot biker man, and trying to emulate his tough and respected equally hot fictional mother, Gemma, you, Miss Knowles, have stooped to low-down and wretched acts that I cannot even mention. (because it would spoil the show for those not yet caught up.) Let us just say that I do NOT feel bad that Jax cheated on you while you were forced to muff-dive in jail, because even an older, stretched-out madame is of more interest than you. You’re all “oh, boohoo, I’m not happy being part of the MC” and “boohoo, I hate my mother-in-law”. Suck it up, bitch. Nobody likes their MIL, but not everybody is so lucky to have a pretty bad-ass built in family.

I’m hoping that the writers of SOA will find it in their hearts to put you and I out of our misery and kill you off in (PLEASE!) the next episode or two. I would even be willing to play the part of a vixenish assassin hired to dispose of you, only to wind up  being the TRUE love of Jax’s life. Whatever happens, Dr. Knowles, I just thought you needed to know that even though you aren’t real, there are people out there you harbor real animosity toward you. Having the same last name as Beyonce’ doesn’t help in the least.

Malevolently,

Sparklebumps