Dear Jake Gyllenhaal,
You were my high school crush. And even though you didn’t know I existed, and you were dating that blonde cheerleader named Kirsten Dunst, I always thought we’d somehow wind up together!
And look, we have! Kind of! You’re out there living your life in Hollywood, and I’m writing endearingly creepy public letters to you on the internet. It’s a love for the ages.
Remember when I had this picture of you in my locker? And people would be like “If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?” And I’d be like, “OMG, YES PLEASE. DO YOU KNOW HIM? CAN YOU INTRODUCE US? PLEASE? PLEASE?” And then I’d have to spend the rest of the day in the guidance counselor’s office trying to convince her that I didn’t need to take my meds.
Do you remember the “special alone time” we (me, and this picture of you) had together? It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times. I really thought we would end up together.
And then our relationship got stagnant. How long can you keep something going with a torn-out photo from a magazine? Apparently only 6 months, 3 days, 17 hours, and 52 minutes.
I mourned you. No, I mourned us. But I moved on, because if the music of Destiny’s Child taught me anything, it’s that I am a survivor. I’m going to make it.
So imagine my surprise when I logged onto my computer last week and saw new photos of you for Details magazine. I felt tingles, deep down in my lady parts, that I hadn’t felt for you in years. It was like I had forgotten all about your “relationship” with Aryan Queen Taylor Swift. I forgot all about Prince of Persia (which was pretty easy, because I, like all of Western civilization, didn’t see that one. Sorry, bro.)
For the first time in years, I had boners for you again.
And those boners felt good.
Look at you!
I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years. Like, “What’s Jake Gyllenhaal doing right now? Where is Jake Gyllenhaal? How easy would it be to get into his apartment? How easy would it be to sneak into his apartment while he’s showering? How easy would it be to force him into marrying me? How easy would it be to enslave him in a Buffalo Bill dungeon pit in my basement?” Such romantic thoughts.
I guess what I’m trying to say, Jake Gyllenhaal (and this is a real proposal so I’m going to need an answer) is that I want to Brokeback Mountain you.
Woah, woah, before you get the wrong idea. No, I don’t want to have sex with you on top of a mountain. I don’t even like the outdoors. Can we do all the stuff you and Heath Ledger did, but in my living room, on the couch, in our pajamas, and have pizza delivered in? That sounds a lot better. A lot sexier. I’d go gay for pizza. Mmm, pizza.
What I mean by “I want to Brokeback Mountain you” is that I want to have a passionate love affair that spans tens of years. And no one knows about it, but you, me, and the mountain. Nature. It’ll be the most important relationship of our lives. Sometimes we’ll have to go years without seeing each other because of the complications of life, but then we’ll plan a weekend fishing trip back up at ol’ Brokeback Mountain and you’ll pick me up (because even in my fantasies, I don’t have my driver’s license) and we’ll kiss so hard that Michelle Williams will be like “Woah, I think my husband might be gay!”
Crap. That’s just the plot of the movie.
You know what I mean, though. This love is going to go the distance. This is the kind of love where Disney wants to make a movie about it and have forest animals sing songs about how handsome you are and how we’ll be together forever.
I’m so happy this is happening.
We’re going to be so happy Brokeback Mountaining each other.
I love you, Jakey G.
- signed, your lover.
P.S- I wish I could quit you.
P.P.S- JK. I never want to quit you. Ever. Not even if you tell me to. Not even if the police tell me to. Never.