Excuse me, do these effectively hide my thunder?

Dear Bluths,

Annyong. How've you been? The other day, Joe and I were watching Veronica Mars (season three...no comment) and at one point, Veronica took a woman to the jail to pick up her boyfriend from the drunk tank. After some talky talk, the woman hugged her boyfriend and Sheriff Lamb yelled, "HEY. No touching!" I was all, "Arrested Development!" and Joe was all, "Coincidence!" but I chose to believe it was an AD shoutout and he can shut his facehole.

Maybe I was reaching (YEAH RIGHT). It's just because I miss your faces. I miss the chicken dance (cawcawcaw-CAW CAW). I miss the segway. I miss GOB's illusions (a trick is something a whore does for money...or candy). I miss Michael's disapproving looks. I miss Buster's hook (I'M A MONSTER).

I miss George Michael and Maebe and the love that dare not speak its name. I miss STEVE HOLT (!) and Ann Veal (her?) and her mayoneggs.

I miss Mrs. Featherbottom (who'd like a banger in the mouth?) and I could use some advice from Dr. Tobias Funke, Anal-rapist. I miss Bob Loblaw and his Law Blog.

I want Lucille to insult me. I'd consider it a great honor, actually. And then I'd like to commiserate with Lindsay and maybe we could go shopping with the Bluth Company credit card or something. And then we'd go visit George Sr. in jail and maybe Barry Zuckercorn would be there and we could all hang out and tell inappropriate jokes.

I miss it all, Bluths, why did you go away? I got very upset. Like, probably inappropriately upset but can you blame me? We had such good times. Sometimes I want to take a forget-me-now so it's like none of this ever happened. It'll be just like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Maybe we could hang out with Mark Ruffalo! And Frodo!

Anyway. I don't really want to forget. Then I wouldn't have any moments like the one below in my brain AND WHERE WOULD I BE THEN*?



I'll just hang out with the Always Sunny crew until your movie comes out.

PS: SPRING BREAK, WHOOOOOOO!

*Sacremende?

like throwing arms round yesterday

Dear Fictional Personage,

It feels so strange to be in this place once again, writing you letters you’ll never see. I thought I’d left all this behind but after M---- mentioned your name a few weeks ago and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. Before I knew what was good for me I went back and read pages upon pages because, God, how I miss you. You’re everything again, where here I thought you were gone for good.

And now it’s the way it used to be; sometimes I think you’re a disease, a creeping brain cloud, slowly sinking into every cell until I find myself wondering whether I’m not more you than me. If only that were true. You are a smart, compassionate, talented, talented man, and if I could be just a tenth of what you are I couldn’t consider my life a waste. I’d be like you, fighting the good fight, protecting my family, facing my fears when it is far, far easier to rabbit run run run.

But you’re gone now, and I don’t know where to. And though it’s been so long since first you went, I miss you now like I did then. You are adored, and wherever you may be on your next great adventure I hope you can feel how much we -- I -- still love you.

Your,
K



P.S. My mother talks to snakes and they do what she says. Told you I should have been sorted into Slytherin.

Neal's smart and you know how much I like smart.

Dearest Neal Caffrey,



You know how I feel about men who steal things and you know how I feel about Bryce Larkin.



So when you traipsed into my Tuesdsay nights via Amy via Heather, I had no choice but to watch all the episodes I had missed in one day, and then find the White Collar forums to see what other people thought about the cliffhanger. Where was the music box? Was Peter bad? Was Kate good?



Neal, you are the sweetest thing and the cutest thing. You are both the right side and wrong side of the law, you are good cop bad cop, good criminal bad criminal.



Not only that, your abs are made of bronze and your smile is a butterfly, hovering on the edge of a summer's morn.



Other shows have come along on Tuesday nights, but I still watch you first. For the reasons I said and for one of my favorite ships, the friendship.



Neal Caffrey, you are a wizard. Don't stop.

Love, Schilbo

Ashley, how does that feel? Jealous much? Then STAY AWAY FROM CHUCK BARTOWSKI.

You know what? I would save the receptionist. Just wanted to clear that up.

Dearest Joe (of Jennie & Joe),

This week's Collective topic is to engage in correspondence with a fictional character. I had it in mind to write a letter to one Mr. Scott Pilgrim, but when the post arrived yesterday afternoon -- and with it the invitation to your wedding -- I knew it was my duty to write to you instead.

Jennie has an intensely vivid imagination, as I'm sure you know, seeing as how she conjured you from its depths. For a long while, my favorite of her imaginary friends was Figment the purple dinosaur and his rocket ship (DUH!). And then you came along. We (The Collective) had a nickname for you in the very beginning, something out of a Roald Dahl book because we all love Roald Dahl very much, and you seemed as warm and whimsical and tall as one of his very best characters.

You were well-read, Jennie told us. We nodded. You were extra-ordinary in matters of intelligence, Jennie told us. We smiled. You enjoyed all the best TV shows, Jennie told us. We golf-clapped. You had the heart of a superhero, Jennie told us. We applauded wildly. You got her. You really got her, and the more she got you, the more she loved you. We wiped a tear from our eye.

One night, under the influence of alcohol, Jennie Collective-Tweeted and said that on your very worst day, you were better than Jim Halpert and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy combined on their very best days. That, my darling Joe, is when we had to slam on the breaks.

Could it be that our sweet Jennie had actually found a real-life person who was better in every way than the fictional characters she loved so dearly?

No, certainly not!

It was then that we began to suspect that you -- like Figment -- were, well, a figment of her imagination. Oh, but the lengths she went to to convince us that you were real: The fake blog where you are funny and insightful and astute; the fake Google Reader where you share all the best hero news and webcomics; the fake actual comic book you created that made us cry; the fake Blogger account where you comment here at this very Collective and make us swoon. And, of course, the fake email address where you have shared so much passion and wit with me about books and TV and comics. How you have wooed us, sweetest Joe! Oh, how you have wooed us!

Now, it seems, Jennie thinks she is going to marry you. (Her imaginary friend!) (The invitations are perfect, by the way -- drawn by you, of course.)

So here is my plea, loveliest Joe: Please leave Jennie's imagination alone. You can't be real. You're too good to be real. We love our Jennie so very much, and we know she would never choose to spend her life with anyone who isn't magic. And magic is only in books.

It has been nice knowing you, imaginary Joe.

love,
Heather

P.S. If you actually are real, I can't wait to meet you at your wedding. I'll be the one doing the reading of Evil Summer. You'll be the one marrying the most beautiful girl in the whole world.

Phone it in Friday: Take us with you!

Happy Friday, Internets! I hope you're not all melting from the hot hot heat. But if you ARE melting, I have just the thing to take your minds off of it: tell us where you'd go with an unlimited travel budget.

I would just like to add that after I was done at Hogwarts, I'd go to Jurassic Park. Thanks, Ashley.