| Dear lord, it's time to shoot myself. |
[Feb. 28th, 2005|08:15 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  crappy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | your mom in the shower | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
Have you ever dated someone for a long, long time, and then decided that you'd rather shove a grenade up your ass than get married?
Have you ever broken up with someone only for them to keep proposing marriage to you?
No?
Well, I guess that you can still relate since you have girls--and maybe boys--proposing marriage to you every day, people that you don't know, don't care about, and don't want to fuck much less marry.
That's where I'm at.
I feel like a hermit crab.
That previous sentence has nothing to do with the rest of this entry. Because I'm THAT cool.
So the other night, Rose and I hung out watching Jonathan Rhys-Meyers movies....he's completely gorgeous. In an unconventional way....and Tom, even though I know you're straight (because I would stab myself on behalf of all womankind if you weren't) even YOU can't deny his hotness. You should probably get your people to call his people and look for a script where you and he could work together.
It may be hotness overload, but I think it's perfectly worth the risk.
Anyway, the movie we watched the other night was pretty lame. I would say that the redeeming factor was a full-frontal scene, but you know, it wasn't that exciting at all.
The costumes were great. You know how I would classify it?
A B-rate Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The costumes were great, but even the makeup was poor.
I'm sure I had something brilliant and funny to say, but the motivation and the articulation has left.
I sincerely hope that you're well.
Lady Ginevra
ps....remember: no hat, no glove |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 24th, 2004|05:23 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  mischievous | ] |
Dear Tom Felton,
Oh dear, I've just read your new blog. You poor thing, spraining your hand from all those autographs!
Well, I imagine not being able to use your writing hand can be very frustrating, so I thought I'd offer my and Gin's...erm.. assistance with anything you may be incapable of doing yourself. You just give that wrist of yours a little R&R, and let Gin and I handle things for now.
Don't worry, we're experts.
-Furious Rose |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 15th, 2004|12:00 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Copyright My Cooter - Furious Ross | ] |
Dear Tom Felton,
I feel I should begin with an apology, considering it's been over two months since we last wrote to you. I know this tardiness has become a habit for us and I really am sorry. I can't imagine the torture you've gone through waiting to hear from us. And to still not have your birthday gift on top of it all. These last two months must have been hell for you.
The only excuse I can offer is that sometimes life gets unexpectedly busy, especially for important people like Ginevra and myself. I'm sure you can relate.
Anyway, I thought I'd quickly go over what I've been up to since our last letter. I figured you'd want to get caught up.
1. Named my new pet after a piece of female anatomy. If you can guess which piece, I'll give you a prize.
2. Turned down a few marriage proposals.
3. Decided that marijuana is lame. You're high for a few hours and then you're DUMB for a few DAYS. At least with alcohol the most I have to deal with is a morning hangover.
4. Discovered that I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body. No, seriously. Maybe I should change my name to Furious Ross.
5. Went into convulsions due to a certain harloty, selfishly-underaged one's happy trail being deliberately exposed for just that purpose. Am now fully recovered and no longer enjoy suffer from spontaneous orgasms body spasms.
6. Decided that my New Year's resolution is to somehow avoid turning 20. Without dying, that is. ...still working on the details of this plan. If you happen to know a way to pause time, help a sista out, would ya?
7. Allowed myself to become obsessed with yet another unattainable man. But at least this one's a man, who sleeping with (it's inevitable, really) won't land me in prison. See, I'm improving!
8. Was and still am horrified by the outcome of our presidential election. Will continue to mourn for the next 4 years.
9. On a particularly strange outing with my friends: played footsie under the table with the wrong person; witnessed the most off-putting over-consumption of whipped cream in the history of ever; decided that the handle cover for a hot pan was actually a penis cozy, took it home, am still considering shortening it (a lot) and sending it to my ex for Christmas; received some very strange stares from the entire restaurant when my friend announced that I should copyright my cooter. ...I wonder if that's even possible. *ponders*
Ok... so for such a busy two months I suppose my list should be longer. I'd give you more details (as I'm positive you want to know as much as possible about me ...who doesn't?) but I seem to have short term memory loss.
I suppose that's all for now. And if you were wondering about the gift.. Well... er.. it's late on purpose. Yeah, that's right. We're trying to break the world record for latest birthday present ever received.
I'm almost certain it will be sent within the next... few months.
Until next time,
Furious Rose
P.S. If you've lost your marbles and don't want to hear from Gin and I anymore, simply email us at operation_dtf@hotmail.com. |
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| Let me count the ways |
[Dec. 11th, 2004|06:36 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | mischievous | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "toxic" by britney spears | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
I haven't told you this in a very long time, and I know your insecurity grows everyday that passes without word from Rose or myself.
So here goes, just in case you've forgotten:
You're Hot.
The End.
All The Best,
Lady G
ps...i sincerely hope that you haven't forgotten your fantastic sense of humor! |
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| HAPPY BIRTHDAY PT.2 |
[Sep. 24th, 2004|06:04 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | contemplative | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "It's Not Easy Being Green" by Kermit the Frog | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
Yes, I am aware that my birthday entry to you is two days late. I am not a procrastinator, I planned it that way...I plan everything...I cannot miss a step until my takeover of the world is complete! But that's another entry.
I wish I could have been there to hold you as you lamented to your fish about not having a birthday letter from Rose and I. I am so sorry for devastating you like that. Please forgive me?
But as Rose so eloquently explained, we are selfish and want your undivided attention. So, therefore, we are being fashionably late. We have a VERY SPECIAL present for you that involves no candlelight, or even naughty lingerie...though that could be because we are broke.
So, without further drama, here is the first of my contributions; a poem for you.
Tom
it is your
birth
day.
you are
*17*
today
or two days ago..
it really does
not
matter,
because you
are still
LEGAL
here.
I
wish
I were in England
to
celebrate with
you
and
cook you
food.
Though,
I would probably
*take you*
to
McDonald's
not only because it is cheap,
but it is
romantic
and
celebratory.
We could
bounce
around in that
ball
pit
or crawl in the
tunnels.
It
would
be
fun.
I would tell you
that I
forgive
you for that
picture of you
on
your
bed,
but I
DO
NOT.
You are
a
tease. And that is a very
big compliment.
Anyway
I would like to
take you fishing
and
BAIT YOU
r
hook for you.
There's nothing
that I
would
not
do.
I would..
die for..
you.
HAPPY 17TH, TOM FELTON.
The. End.
*bows* I know I'm a structural genius. You don't have to say it for me.
Next, a list that was put aside during the composition of the previous birthday note.
17 REASONS WHY WE LOVE YOU.
(in no particular order, because I am not organized, and i suck.)
17. You have very, very nice hands
16. You look good with a shaved head. Hey! That's difficult to pull off!
15. Everytime i hear "it's not easy being green" kermit the frog, I think of you.
14. You rent movies for your mom
13. You eat at McDonald's and write about what you bought. You don't want us to miss a thing!
12. You call "lunch ladies, "dinner ladies" and it makes us laugh because you are so very British.
11. You have an accent that makes me frustrated.
10. You like Eminem and brag about it. That's hot.
09. You are a talented actor who can turn us on and off in the same movie!
08. You give that girl who sent you a pillow hope that you will kiss her goodnight every night. That's so sweet!
07. When you talk about the fan club, you refer to yourself in third person. HAHA. That's almost as funny as we are.
06. You don't write about how conceited we are, as if we didn't know.
05. You are a momma's boy, and are not ashamed.
04. You thoughfully give people shoutouts in your journal.
03. You are thankful for your success.
02. You have beautiful, non-computer generated biceps.
01. You have not sent the FBI after us, so that lets us know that you have a sense of humor!
Well, I don't seem to have much else to say, except STAY AWAY FROM JAGERMEISTER. It is evil.
Choose Tequila.
Love,
Lady Ginevra
PS...let me know if you can't find that Lobster episode of Friends. I'll send it overnight |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 24th, 2004|12:09 am] |
Dear Tom Felton,
On behalf of all (well.. both) of us here at DTF Inc. Happy (slightly belated) Birthday!
I'm sure you've noticed that you haven't received a gift from us. Don't you worry your pretty little head, we haven't forgotten you!
Gin and I thought it best to wait a bit after your birthday to send it, so it wouldn't get lost under a pile of gifts from fans. That would be tragic.
You may also be wondering why this letter is late. Believe me, dear, it pained me to not write to you yesterday because I knew how utterly heartbroken you would be. But, as with the gift, I don't like to get lost in the shuffle. I admit, I quite enjoy the spotlight and my motto has never been "sharing is caring." If I had it my way, every time I enter a room my own theme music would play, the lights would dim, and everyone would watch me toss my hair in slow motion before they could resume whatever trivial tasks they'd been "busy" with.
In honor of your special day, I've decided to do something a bit of the ordinary for DTF. I'm going to talk about you rather than some of the other things I've been meaning to get to (nothing too important, really.. I've recently embraced my penis envy and thought I might question you on the joys of owning one, but I suppose that can wait until next time).
Gin and I made a few fun lists for your enjoyment...
--Top seven most endearing excerpts from your blog (in no particular order):
1. Only 2 weeks left before study leave and the school prom. Haven't got anything to wear yet. Must find something cool.
2. I hope that the person who stole them gets something stolen from them which is really precious like my rods.
3. I bought 4 big new fish for my pond at home named after people close to me. They cruise around for food at night and I like checking on them all making sure they are all ok.
4. Did my own bar b que on Saturday and defrosted the rolls which I must have done too much as they were really hard! Sausages were good though.
5. Have you ever tried to hire a video/dvd for your mum without her being there? A friend and I went to the video shop and I told my mum I would get a video for her as she wasn't doing much that night. -- My film was rubbish but hers was OK! Some you win, some you lose!
6. Hope you are all ok and not ill like me!
7. I'm a sucker for lonely fish!!
-----
Seventeen things you've likely done during/after reading a DTF letter:
1. Measured your fishing rod.
2. Made a conscious effort to put secret messages to us in your blog.
3. Tried to recall every place you've ever written "Tom was here."
4. Downloaded Richard Marx songs. Then decided the rest of those performers must have been pretty damn awful.
5. Done countless google searches, not understanding why naked women pop up when you search for "furious rose." And also wondering who this Lisa Loeb chick is.
6. Burned all the pictures of yourself from when you had a mullet as a kid.
7. Cut your finger, let it swell, then bit it to see if it tasted like sausage.
8. Threw out every box from the mail that looked like it could contain food.
9. Bought a dwarf hamster and tried to figure out the mystery behind how many balls can fit in one's food pouch.
10. Became obsessed with Master Shake, Frylock, and Meatwad.
11. Gotten hot over the prospect of a one-night-snog.
12. Confronted Dan about 'the face.'
13. Began planning an investigation into the Dan Radcliffe age cover-up.
14. Counted the number of times you've ever laughed till you pissed yourself, and then calculated how many more times you'd need to fill your quota.
15. Took the test and figured out that you are, in fact, famous.
16. Bought all of the Friends box sets looking for the "lobster" episode.
17. Anonymously sent Rose moldy meatloaf, because you think if anyone should be famous, it's her.
-----
Six signs that you might be Gin's lobster:
1. Your name begins with T.
2. You like to fish.
3. You have blue eyes.
4. You keep a blog.
5. You're not American.
6. Your name ends with om Felton.
Well love, I hope this has satisfied your DTF appetite for now and that your birthday was marvelous. Lady Ginevra sends her best. Keep an eye out for our gift!
XoXo
-Furious Rose
P.S. If you'd like to find out where you can send love letters or moldy meatloaf, simply email us at operation_dtf@hotmail.com
P.P.S. When you get a chance, could you please tell Dan that he is a shameless tease and a harlot? Thanks.
P.P.P.S. We are two very lonely fish, won't you take us home with you? |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 31st, 2004|11:00 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  hardcore | ] |
Dear Tom Felton,
If this letter contains typos, you must excuse me. I cut my pinky finger today and the swelling is impairing my typing abilities. I told Ginevra it looks like a fat little sausage. I think she wants to eat my pinky now. I don't think it would taste much like sausage though, do you? If you want to find out, feel free to nibble.
So I see that Gin informed you of our plans for tyrannical global domination... er.. I mean peaceful democratic guidance by way of rap music. I think I need to brush up on my rhyming skills though. Here's a sample of my latest work:
"Mic check, 1..2...
my finger's a sausage
I'm taking you hostage
with rhymes like woah
make you say "D'oh!"
like homer simpson
I'm your pimp, son!
Run DMC
got nothin on me
if you try to get technical
watch your testicles
I don't fight like no bitch
you'll end in a ditch
six feet under
for a permanent slumber
I may be white
but I'm street to the bone
don't give me no lip
I got enough of my own
in case you were curious
I'm Rose and I'm furious
my oral fixation
has caused a sensation
you can try to resist me
but it'll be hard
'cause my milkshake brings
all the boys to the yard
Tom, please ignore
the feelings you foster
'cause I won't interfere
with a girl and her lobster"
What do you think? Yeah, I've got mad skills. I totally did not steal that lip line from Steven Tyler. No, really... it's completely original.
I was reading through Lady Ginevra's list of how to tell if you're famous, and I think I'm nearly there.
See, look...
1)Girls (or guys) cry when they see you. -- For some odd reason people tend to burst into tears when I enter a room. I'm going to count this since the list does not specify whether people are crying because they are so pleased to see you or because they are terrified of you. So by a technicality, that's 1 out of 10 so far.
2)you get bombarded with presents from people that you don't know -- I don't, but I should.
3)you get written pointless letters from people that you don't know, but with whom you are somewhat fascinated. -- I received a pointless letter from a bill collector today. I'm not really fascinated with them, but I am fascinated that they keep trying. I think this makes 2 out of 10.
4)you get emails from people explaining how cruel it was to post that picture of you on your bed, knowing that everyone over 17 will be counting down the days until your glorious "adult" birthday. Hypothetically. Especially when you know that you are sincerely charming. -- Well, I'm not underage, but I am sincerely charming, so this is 3.
5)when you are afraid to open your email when your mom is in the room, b/c of your insane admirers -- Well I certainly receive my share of flattering fan mail. However, my admirers are not insane. It is perfectly understandable that they love me. Just look at me! Nevertheless, I shall count this as 4.
6)when you arrive to a function, you become temporarily blind -- Hmm.. can't think of a way to make this work, so on to number 7..
7)when you interview, all of a sudden people want to know what kind of food you like to eat. -- Well I went to lunch with some coworkers the other day, and I'd been to the restaurant before so one of them asked me what I recommend. It wasn't exactly an interview, but it is obviously the same thing. That's 5!
8)you receive moldy food in the mail, which appears to be an imitation of mom's meatloaf, and you coincidentally stated it as a favorite of yours in an interview the week before! -- Ew. Kinda glad this one isn't true.
9)People begin posing as you on the internet -- Ginevra does it all the time. That's 6!
10) People believe that the poser is actually you, and go to any length to befriend "you." - But of course! Who wouldn't want to befriend "me?"
That's 7 out of 10! Now I just need to get these other three taken care of and I'll be famous. I dunno about the temporary blindness, but do you think you could send me some moldy meatloaf?
Till next time,
-Furious R to the O. S. E.
P.S. If you can't see hilarity
in our parody
and decide to punk out
just give us a shout: operation_dtf@hotmail.com |
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| The Lobster Call |
[Aug. 30th, 2004|08:47 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  blank | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Lobster Mash | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
Yo yo yo yo yo yo wazupwazupwazup in the hizzouse?????
*clears throat of all Aquateen Hunger Force*
Do they even have that show in England? I hope so, for your sake. You need to laugh so hard that you piss yourself at least 196 times in your life.
So...how have you been since our last barrage? I'm proud to say that Rose and I can no longer be classified as bums, now that we both just got full time jobs; well, day jobs. It's actually in our plan to become an internationally acclaimed rap group that uses political imagery to subliminally convince the world to elect us as its leaders. Or something like that.
Please excuse me, as I am in rare form tonight.
I apologize profusely for my and Rose's procrastination, as I am well aware that you missed us and our entertaining ramblings oh-so-much. I came across some interesting things these last few weeks, and decided to form a checklist on how to tell that you're famous.
1)Girls (or guys) cry when they see you.
2)you get bombarded with presents from people that you don't know
3)you get written pointless letters from people that you don't know, but with whom you are somewhat fascinated.
4)you get emails from people explaining how cruel it was to post that picture of you on your bed, knowing that everyone over 17 will be counting down the days until your glorious "adult" birthday. Hypothetically. Especially when you know that you are sincerely charming
5)when you are afraid to open your email when your mom is in the room, b/c of your insane admirers
6)when you arrive to a function, you become temporarily blind
7)when you interview, all of a sudden people want to know what kind of food you like to eat.
8)you receive moldy food in the mail, which appears to be an imitation of mom's meatloaf, and you coincidentally stated it as a favorite of yours in an interview the week before!
9)People begin posing as you on the internet
10) People believe that the poser is actually you, and go to any length to befriend "you."
Okay, I admit that that list is lame, but I am not my usual brilliant self this evening. And though I do not care to do anything if I can't do my best, I decided to be considerate of your feelings and the fact that every day that goes by without a letter from Rose or Gin, you want to die. It's okay, I completely understand.
So....'til next time...
Lady Ginevra
p.s...if you can't take this brilliant works of literature with a grain of sarcasm, please exit this way: operation_dtf@hotmail.com |
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| Boys are made of greasy grimy gopher guts.... |
[Aug. 4th, 2004|11:55 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  pissed off | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "sorry" | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
I hate boys. Not that I especially like girls that way, but I am pissed off at the male species.
I wish I could go back to that window at the gas station, and meet with you. Since you've been there, and all. Now, I'm going to sing for you. Ready? *clears throat*
Boys are made of greasy grimy gopher guts,
mutilated monkey meat
little birdie's dirty feet
french-fried eyeballs in a bowl of blood..
and i forgot my spoon!
The end.
I wrote that myself.
Ok, I didn't.
But you never wrote "Tom was here," either.
It's too bad. I would so go back to the gas station and wait for you. In our special place.
I need a good snogging session. A hot, steamy, passionate, one-night-stand snog. Can you make that happen?
Do you think I'll ever find my lobster?
*sigh*
With all my heart (and desire to kiss SOMEone senseless),
Ginevra.
I don't feel like being a Lady tonight...lol.
PS...should you think of someone that would be fitting to my snogging requirement, please email operation_dtf@hotmail.com |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 1st, 2004|04:33 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | conspiratorial | ] |
Dear Tom Felton,
It's been a while since my last letter. I apologize for neglecting you. It must have been very difficult to go nearly three whole weeks without any word from us. I hope we didn't worry you too much.
I have some exciting news! Lady Ginevra recently went on a trip with some friends, and while driving around they spotted a large advertisement for "Tom's bait and tackle!" Can you believe it? The signs follow her everywhere! I wouldn't be surprised if some day she calls me and tells me someone tried to sell her a pet lobster named Tom.
I'll be throwing her a bachelorette party any day now. I better start planning. Do you think she'd like dwarf strippers? Or maybe Lady Lycra and I could strip for her. *ponders*
Gin and I have been perturbed by something lately. While watching your latest movie, we both noticed something about one of your costars. There is a certain face that Dan makes whenever he's supposed to look angry or sometimes even scared. He clenches his teeth and pulls in his lips and sometimes wiggles them a bit. Instead of "I'm angry," the look portrays a mixture of "I'm severely constipated," and "I'm having a brain aneurysm." It worries us. Could you please relay the message?
And while we're talking about Dan, there's something I've been meaning to ask about.
I've been rather suspicious, and Gin agrees, that Dan is not really fifteen. I used to wonder about it, but now that certain pictures have been released I am convinced. But I also thought.."Why would he lie about his age?" He looks like an otherwise pretty honest guy. So this is the conclusion I've come to: Dan was perfect for the role of Harry, but he was a few years older than what the producers were looking for, and they didn't think the public would accept an older boy playing their favorite hero, so they decided to lie about his age. A full-fledged cover up ensued. Records were altered, dates on birth certificates were changed, fake I.D.'s were created.
He's not really 15. He's not really jailbait. It's all a conspiracy.
I'm right, aren't I? You don't have to say it.. I know I'm right.
Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret.
Till next time,
-Furious Rose |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 12th, 2004|12:26 am] |
Dear Tom Felton,
Did you know that hamsters have pouches inside their mouths to store food in?
My best friend, Jones, and I both have hamsters. Jones's hamster is named Cherry and he's about the size of a small rat. Yes I said he. Let me explain. See, when Jones got her hamster she thought it was a girl and named it Cherry. A few weeks later the appearance of two pieces of male anatomy showed us that Cherry wasn't a girl after all. She may have balls, but we still love him. She's our little boy.
Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked...
It was Jones who first told me that hamsters had these pouches. I saw for myself when I watched Cherry stuff his pouches full of food and dig under her bedding to spit it out in his hiding place. My hamster, Gilly, is a dwarf-hamster so she's about the size of Cherry's head. After having her for about 6 months I'd never seen her use her pouches, so Jones and I figured only certain breeds of hamsters had them.
However, earlier tonight I was feeding Gilly and she proved our theory wrong. I usually just give her a pinch of mixed food, but instead I fished out a few of her favorite seed/nut things for her. She stuffed all three into her pouches.
Since I'm so easily amused I decided to do a little experiment. I wanted to see how many of them she could fit into her mouth. I fished out as many of the little seed/ball things as I could find. I stopped at twelve because I was sure that would be more than enough. To my surprise Gilly put all twelve of them into her pouches without hesitation. Isn't that incredible?
I'm out of those things so I guess I'll never know what her limit is. It's one of life's big mysteries. Sort of like.. how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie-roll center of a tootsie-pop? Is there life after death? Are we alone in the universe? How many balls can Gilly fit into her mouth? ... the world may never know.
Maybe I should get a boy hamster for Gilly to play with. I'm sure she'd impress him with her awesome talent. I'd introduce her to Cherry but I think he could stuff her in his pouch if he wanted, so maybe that's not such a good idea. Besides... a girl's got enough to worry about without dealing with a gender-challenged HeShe with an identity crisis. Don't you think?
Till next time,
Furious Rose
(If our coolness is too intimidating and you decide you can no longer handle it, simply send an email to operation_dtf@hotmail.com)
***********************
I haven't sent this one yet. Not sure I'm going to. It sounded a lot funnier in my head. And it's kinda long.
So what'dya think girls? Send or not? |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 5th, 2004|09:53 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | naughty | ] |
Dear Tom Felton,
Today when I woke up I received some rather unpleasant news. The driver side window of my car was busted out last night while I slept. So now the two of us have something in common. Just like you'd like the asshole who stole your fishing rods to have something stolen from them, I'd like to find the chode who did this and break their face so they know how my window feels.
Maybe it was the same person. It's pretty unlikely, but after that whole "Tom was here" incident at the gas station I think I'd believe just about anything. Oh! Maybe he used your fishing rod to bust my window! Ok, let me stop before I start singing "It's a small world afterall.."
Speaking of fishing rods, I went to the lake over the weekend with some friends and did a tiny bit of fishing myself. We spent most of Saturday on the boat laying out, swimming, and enjoying ourselves. I'm not any good at fishing, but I like it, so when the boys started setting up I asked if I could join. The only extra rod was a sort of small one that belonged to Jones's little brother.
I didn't catch anything, of course, but it was an educational experiences to sit there with them like one of the guys. I got a little bit of insight into how men think. Not that I needed any. When I jokingly complained about the size of my pole they mumbled something about penis envy.
Men.
So, out of curiosity, how big is your fishing rod?
Till today I didn't know that mullet is not only the name of a very unfashionable hair cut (ya know... business in the front, party in the back?), but is also a kind of fish. Do you think maybe one is named after the other?
For the fish's sake.. I hope not.
-Furious Rose
P.S. If you suddenly realize you can't handle our coolness, and would like to unsubscribe from this nonsense, send an email to operation_dtf@hotmail.com.
------------------
*Author's Note*: Psst.. Lady Lycra.. Ginevra.. should I edit out the question about his p.. I mean fishing rod before I send it? |
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| My First Letter... |
[Jul. 3rd, 2004|11:44 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | aggravated | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The constant buzzing in my ear | ] |
Dear Tom Felton:
My dogs suffer from Separation Anxiety Disorder. It’s true. I don’t particularly understand why; my flatmate and I take excellent care of them. I mean, one has a mammoth toenail that we filed off for him, and the other, well, we dyed him magenta! Surely that must count for giving them attention! We really do love our doggies, but we must get rid of them. They have been chewing everything up in the house, which they didn’t start until about 2 weeks ago. They ate our “Saved By The Bell” and Candyland, for God’s sakes!
In any event, my roommates and I are going to New York, and need extra money, for, like, food. Consequently, we decided to offer our services to the male population…but they all turned us down. How is that possible? I believe that they are just extra scared of how cool we are. That’s all that it could be.
In closing, just a little trivia. Did you know that lobsters can live up to 100 years? And even though they are mere crustaceans, they cannot reproduce until age 7! Did you ever see the show Friends? Where Phoebe is looking for her lobster?
Thank you for your time today. I leave you with one thought: Could you be my lobster?
Sincerely,
Lady Ginevra.
Ps…if you decide that you are not as cool as we thought, and would like to unsubscribe from this nonsense, send an email to Operation_dtf@hotmail.com |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2004|11:49 pm] |
Dear Tom Felton,
Today I went to a lame ass concert with Lady Ginevra, because her mother had free tickets.
Talentless pop singers who do not write their own songs and need to have nearly-naked women on stage to keep an audience's attention, and got their "big break" because they know someone who knows someone with connections, are the grime of the music industry and I take full advantage of every chance I get to inform them of it : )
We suffered through about eight such performers before the only band on the line up I was actually looking forward to came on. Much to my dismay, their set was the shortest of the night.
You might be too young, but do you remember Richard Marx at all? He had one hit song in the early 90's .."wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you." Ring any bells? Well anyway, we thought it was so hilarious that he was on the roster that we decided to tell everyone we were only there to see Richard Marx. To our surprise, he was actually the best performance we saw all day. And in typical fashion, his set was cut short by the sound engineers who seemed to think the audience came to hear a DJ rather than a live band. After all.. who goes to a concert to hear live music, right? What a preposterous notion that would be.
Then, to top it all off, the fireworks display (our main incentive for going in the first place) that was promised to be the biggest one this year, lasted all of five minutes.
Still, I must say that lounging in the sun and amusing yourself by counting mullets, making fun of bad dancers, singing along to live music and changing the lyrics at random to include bits of personal and embarrassing information about the performer, isn't a bad way to spend a Saturday. Don't you agree?
-Furious Rose
(To unsubscribe at any time, simply send an email to operation_dtf@hotmail.com stating that you would no longer like to be bothered with this nonsense.) |
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[Jun. 30th, 2004|11:48 pm] |
Dear Tom Felton,
Today Ginevra and I drove four hours home from where she lives. Our methods of amusement were as follows: singing very loudly to music we listened to when we were 12, winking and blowing kisses to people in other cars (women and elderly people included), and the old fallback - discussing boys and sex with an inappropriate amount of vulgar detail.
About two hours into our drive Ginevra needed a pit stop, so we got off at the first available exit. While Gin did her business I waited outside the restroom and was innocently peering out the window when I saw something that was just too perfect to be coincidental. There scratched into the window was "Tom was here." I shit you not.
< sarcasm>
So of course I decided to take it as a sign that you and Gin are fated to be together. ... After all.. Tom really is such an uncommon name. The chances that some other guy named Tom would leave his mark on a window in a gas station we just happen to stop at is like... one in a hundred or something. Those are impossible odds.
I'm telling you... it's fate.
< /sarcasm>
On the next episode: Why having "connections" in the music business doesn't necessarily translate into talent.
-Furious Rose |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2004|11:42 pm] |
Dear Tom Felton,
This is the first of many "letters" you will receive from my friends and I in what we have dubbed Operation DTF. I'm sure it will be given a more interesting name in time.
It started out as an inside joke between friends, but it's been so fun to joke about I figured it would be endlessly entertaining to actually do it.
Of course it would have been slightly more amusing had I begun without giving you any warning or explanation, but I thought it selfish to leave you out of the fun that will doubtlessly be had.
I only hope you have a good sense of humor and an understanding of sarcasm.
Code names will be used to protect all parties' egos and shield them from extensive humiliation... unless, of course, my aim is to humiliate.
All that being said... I hope you enjoy this half as much as we do.
This is the last mention I will make of Operation DTF. This message will self destruct in 3.....2....1...
Sorry, couldn't help myself.
-Furious Rose |
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