4 January 2008

Barney!

Oh my god, it's 2008! Hello, Happy New Year! And with this response coming in your mailbox, you know the answer is no, we cannot use email, because I like doing this, and I like feeling like I've got Parkinson's after writing an extremely long letter when my hand goes numb. What's wrong with letter writing anyway? Nothing. Nothing at all. So let's carry on.

Right, a few things to address here.

One: Stop flirting with me! I can literally feel it through your use of are despicable, with all the winking. The worst part is that I can actually picture you with the winking and I laugh – out loud, by the way – when I have the imagery. You are an awfully cheeky person. Now go sit in a corner and reflect.

Two: It's strange you didn't reply with a load to ask about my hot female friends, and that have caused me to believe you have found a girlfriend… Oh, stop it, you! You confuse me. I added that hot friends part in my letter for a specific reason, which is to get you hyped up and plan a visit because I've missed you so. So please don't tell me you have a girlfriend because that would seriously break my heart, knowing I'm not the only female you are devoting all your time to now that you've got another one you may put on a higher shelf than me. Pfft. (Yes, Barney, this is jealousy, and it's dangerous.)

Three: I love my new job. I don't know where that came from, but I love it so far. And I thought I should let you know, because loving my job is such an amazing feeling.

Four: I think this is it. Holy stars, my letter is so short. But it's not the quantity that matters; it's the quality that does. And this is some pretty good quality writing here. Duh. That also happens to be what they teach you at school, I would think, if you made it past fourth grade.

Truckloads of love (definitely more than you),

Robin

P.s. I'm so glad to hear you're still letting me win.

P.p.s. I think you know the answer to that.

10 January 2008

Few things to address as well.

One: Just shut up and let me flirt with you! You know you like it; you know you just like it dirty; you know you want it and you want it bad… Ok. I'll stop right here. That was the line and I crossed it.

But really.

Anyway, Happy New Year to you too, even though the year's hardly new anymore now that I'm writing on the, what, 10th? How did the days fly by? Also, I have said it once and I will say it again (and again and again, until you agree with me) – that it's 2008 and we need to start using email to communicate! Seriously. What's the deal? We won't have to wait for letters anymore.

Oh, wait… Sentimental value. Of course; letters have sentimental value. But baby girl, the whole ordeal with sentimental value is making me… Mental. That rhymed, I think. Halfway.

No, don't let your heart be broken, or try and stick it back together now, because I have not got a girlfriend. Barney Stinson doesn't do 'girlfriend'! You've known me for ages now, you should know better than this. I don't think you're my good friend after all, Scherbatsky. Now stop being jealous, because you look so bitter right now and if you keep on looking like that I'd have you step back and away from me.

However, I won't be surprised if you've gotten yourself a swanky little boyfriend. Okay, maybe not swanky. That's not the best word. But I'm pretty sure with your level of hotness (there, there, I said it); it shouldn't be hard to score a dude. Face it – You're tall and sexy with a gorgeous face! (There, there, I also said that.)

Don't mind me, I think I'm a bit drunk.

Moving on.

I don't have a girlfriend, so I'd be more than happy if I could pop over and stay sometime because your girlfriends sound delicious. A professional womaniser like me will gobble them up and spit them out before you count to ten in Spanish. And considering you don't know Spanish at all, I think that gives me a bit of time, doesn't it?

I'm delighted to hear that you love your job! Except I don't care about your job. I care about you! I want to know how you're doing, not how your job is doing. So please don't talk to me about your job ever again, unless it's about one of the following: 1) Your hot (female) colleagues, 2) Something upsetting that you really need to talk about, or 3) You quit and you're coming back. That's all I'm accepting. Everything else is now rated a negative fifty-two and I no longer care.

And to leave you, I think I just beat you in letter writing. I just beat you in letter writing. And I don't even have ovaries. I swear I'm getting really good at this.

You'll never have more love than me,

Barney

P.s. It's like this – No matter what we're arguing about, you always win. That's the tradition. Even when you're completely wrong.