Thornton, Billy Bob
Dear Billy Bob,
Happy 48th Birthday!
Billy Bob, you’re 48 years old today. You’re an accomplished actor, screenwriter, and director. You’ve had some marriages. Don’t you think it’s time to start calling yourself “William Robert”? “Billy Bob” is an appropriate name for a toothless, barefoot hillbilly wearing torn overalls and covered in grease stains. If you called yourself William Robert, you probably never would have gotten suckered into marrying that vampiric shrew. Man, she’s psycho. Cute little Cambodian kid, though. And have you seen Lara Croft: Tomb Raider: the Cradle of Life? What a terrible, terrible movie. Terrible. Why is she making such shit? Didn’t she win an Oscar? One time, I saw her walking down Madison Avenue and some rich old society lady—you know, the type with a fancy hat and gloves that reach to her biceps—was walking her dog, this cute little poodle, and Angelina runs over, grabs the pooch and takes a bite of its tail. The thing was yapping like all hell, and Angelina runs off, cackling and howling and doing jumping jacks. What a loony bird.
In summary, even “Willy Rob” would be better than “Billy Bob.”
All the best,