Dear little wee people living inside my television:
It must be very difficult for you living in there; you have to have specially-made tiny furniture and cars and underpants. I suppose they don’t let you out of there much, what with the demands of syndication. On the other hand, your weather is usually predictable.
Listen, I think it’s wonderful that Doofus and The Crosseyed Wench decided to get married to each other in mini-Las Vegas, and I’m not going to lie to you; when I saw them with miniscule Star Trek communicator pins, my cockles were warmed. I am certianly not one to begrudge two weirdos in love. And honestly, I would have loved to get married on the bridge of the Enterprise. In fact, when His Nibs and Yours Truly were sending out invitations, we even sent one to Mr. William Shatner.
Well. To be honest, *I* sent an invitation. For our wedding. To Mr. William Shatner.
So imagine my surprise when I saw you, trapped in your miniature world, your trifling world walled on one side by glass, talking to a pocket-sized wedding planner about your wedding in Las Vegas, and you said the only guest you wanted was none other than Mr. William Shatner. MY William Shatner. My Mr. William Shatner who didn’t even send back my RSVP card, even though I’d sent an SASE and enough Yankee postage to get it back here. I thought, “Oh. Oh, this is too rich. Doofus and The Crosseyed Wench will NEVER get Mr. William Shatner. First of all, he’s far too busy to return people’s RSVP cards in postage-paid SASEs. MUCH too busy to actually *go* to someone’s wedding just because they watched him once a week on Saturday mornings for the first fifteen years of their lives.”
You know, I don’t really have all that much to say to you, to be honest. The truth is, you are only, at maximum, twenty-some inches high. And you can’t ‘ekscape’ your little LCD/Plasma prison. And I think that serves you right. Shatner stealers.
So we’re not going to keep up this charade, my meager former friends. I hope your sham of a “wedding” was everything you wanted to be. The dress made you look fat.
Yours in disenShatulation,