An open letter to pregnant Megan Fox

Dear Megan Fox,

I write this letter hoping that it might catch your attention and that you might know my true feelings for you, because publishing an open letter in a Filipino newspaper is clearly the best way to do that.

I have recently chanced upon news which might very well be unforgivable, even to this stricken heart of mine. Yesterday, while browsing the Internet for photos of cats doing people things, I inadvertently learned that you are currently nurturing a parasitic little person inside you. You couldn’t possibly fathom the horror brought upon me by the news of your pregnancy. I felt betrayed, pushed aside, and most importantly, confused. It felt as if my very soul had been torn asunder from my mortal flesh. It was that dark.

You see, though we’ve never met, I have loved you, deeply, for so long. I have loved you ever since you first pretended to be interested in vehicles and Shia LaBeouf in the first Transformers movie, and my love has only grown stronger since. I have loved you even during the most trying of times, like when I watched Jennifer’s Body and you were not naked in it. But even though a movie entitled Jennifer’s Body should logically show at least a glimpse of said Jennifer’s (a.k.a. your) glorious body unhindered by clothing, and that not doing so was clearly false advertising, I forgave you. Because I love you even if you don’t do full frontal nudity. And that’s the strongest love there is.

At first I hoped that news of your pregnancy wasn’t true. I hoped that it would turn out to be an elaborate ruse perpetrated by some savvy individuals, like Bonsai Kittens, crop circles, or Keanu Reeves. But at the back of my mind, I somehow knew that it was the truth, and that I would eventually have to accept it. Still, though with time I had partially numbed myself to the painful sting of your sudden pregnancy, one question remained. Why would you adamantly refuse to glorify the men of the world with the sight of your naked body, and then go ultra naked in front of Brian Austin Green? Brian Austin Green. You literally could have had any man you wanted. But now you have Brian Austin Green genes multiplying inside you. There will soon be a smaller version of Brian Austin Green and it’s all your fault.

I may never know the answer to this question. Even if you were to explain it to me face to face, I fear I may never understand. And so, rather than trying to make sense of it all, I offer you a proposal — a challenge, if you will. I ask that you do only what any decent woman in your situation would: leave that son of a b*tch and be with me instead. Before you dismiss this entirely as the ranting of a mad man, I would have you know that hard, solid facts support the view that you should ditch Brian Austin Green for me. A quick Google search for the phrase “brian austin green is a douchebag” returns about 2,880,000 results, whereas a similar query using my name barely even returns 1,000,000. That’s 1,880,000 less pages dedicated to hating me than those dedicated to hating Brian Austin Green. I think it’s clear who the better man here is. Think about it.

Love,

Mikee Ty