[Update, May 6, 2019: Anthony Jeselnick politely declined my request, via his manager.]
Dearest and truest Anthony,
Oh, how I dig your sinny dark matter!
Yuuuup, I love Steven Wright and Mitch Hedberg, but you paint the town with those two corpses.
Funny how a coupla peeps from different universes speak exactly the same language and dialect, pretty much from the same wicked lexicon, with plenty of villainous passion thrown in.
First time I saw you, I said, “Now there’s America’s Psychopath. My evil twin!”
That’s you and I, dude: two vampiric potty-mouths in the same tiny room, dreaming up otherworldly ways to torque the minds of innocent children the world over, while secretly sucking up and drinking their life-energy.
Gotta admit, though: “murder-suicide” isn’t as high on my bucket list as yours, but it did appear in an early draft of my book, Suicide Tango: My Year Killin’ It With A Shrink.
Truth? Methinks you get more laughs from it than I could’ve, so I won’t challenge your rights or royalties.
Besides, this is what you said about it: “It’s a lot easier to get up and tell jokes every night than get someone to read a piece of paper.”
Okay, so why should you read, blurb and talk about my novel?
Dude, isn’t it obvious? If not, here’s a teeny nudge:
Good Will Hunting slams into Pulp Fiction at 500 miles an hour and spits out a screaming Anthony Jeselnick.
Your mission is simple, homeboy: take a heaping dose of Suicide Tango, let it diffuse around your bad blood for a day or two, then fly up into your deviant dark matter.
While it works its magick on your neuronal demonics, celebrate its side effects: faster and wittier quips, devastating puns, more-powerful plays on words, clever and devastating shut-uppy retorts for the haters.
And that’s just with the side effects, dude.
We haven’t even gotten to the good medicine, so you best shove in your protein enema and put your crash helmet on, cuz Suicide Tango is your very own performance-enhancing drug, and it’s approved by the NFL, MLB, IOC and the CIfuckenA.
Lunch in New Orleans Saturday? It’s on you, since ya got all those royalties comin’ in and I’m broke as fuck cuz you haven’t agreed to read, blurb and talk about Suicide Tango.
Yet.
If you’ve forgotten how to read, check out my book trailers on YouTube.
Love, a huuuuge red lipstick-kiss on your face, and a punch on your sweet Tulaney nose.
CheersCiao,
~Tripsy