May I call you Clint? I do hope so, I am such a huge fan of yours. In fact, you come up in conversation among my friends and I quite frequently. Alright, I admit it it, I bring you up; my friends laugh and agree what a stud you are. I just thought that I should write to you to discuss a few key points that were decided on during a very serious discussion over pomegranate cider at the tasting room we visited.
I'm sure you hear from women all the time about how amazing you are. I've seen many, many, MANY of your movies, and I am quite a fan. In fact, if you were pictured on the front of romance novels I would probably give up reading books with substance and taste altogether. I might even consider sex!
In order to consider all angles on the discussion that we were having I had to do extensive research on you. On GOOGLE!!! Reading your Wiki page was quite enlightening for me. You have had some exploits haven't you, you naughty man?! How many children do you have? With how many women? You give Flavor Flav a run for his money! Well, except for the fact that you're not broke, have talent, and are by far one of the most beautiful men in the history of the entertainment industry. You're 80 years old and are still damned sexy! (In my own humble opinion that is). Although, who knows what you've come in contact with since you became sexually active; you've been having sex with women since the time when Syphilis was common. I can only imagine what kind of crotch rot you could have been exposed to. (And I have a very good imagination, by the way).
The original consensus of our "Phoebe sleeping with Clint Eastwood" discussion was that it could not happen because I would never want to be responsible for the death of an icon. I mean, you are 80 years old, and I am an energetic, physically active, feisty, blonde in her mid 20's. Can you imagine the death threats and hate mail I would get for that? Not to mention the awkward discussion with the press about how I was with you during your final moments. Sure, I would probably get a book deal and an interview with Barbara Walters, but it just wouldn't be worth it. Or would it? It almost sounds like a movie; we could write a documentary and call it "The Woman Who Brought Down an Icon". *insert dark, ominous tones here*
After quite a bit of thought into the matter (several months in fact) I have finally come to a conclusion on why I cannot ever join you between the sheets. Unless it's to spoon. If it's to spoon I will climb right in there, but I get to be little spoon! I refuse to be your human backpack!
Anyway, back to the subject at hand, I have come up with five solid reasons on why we can't have sex...
Top 5 Reasons I Can Never Sleep With Clint Eastwood:
- If I gave you a heart attack I would never be able to forgive myself. You mean that much to me.
- I'm afraid you would give me some sort of disease that doctors don't even remember anymore and I would be stuck with some sort of weird growth on my girlie-bits.
- You are obviously incredibly fertile, and the idea of bearing your illigitimate offspring is somewhat terrifying to me. Although, the child support might be quite lucrative.
- After the list of women you've been with, I'm afraid I have a little bit of stage-fright and I'm afraid of being somewhat inadequate in the bedroom department.
- Last, but not least, I would have to have sex in order to have sex with you. I hate to say this because I love you, but I'm a cat lady! We don't have sex!
So, Clint, I am going to have to tell you that we will just never engage in sexual activity. I hope we can still be friends.
All my love,
The Future Cat Lady
P.S. We really can still spoon if you want to!
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