I can’t express how happy I am that I found your website. Ever since I first saw you on that episode of the original Star Trek where Abe Lincoln is floating out in space on that big chair, I’ve wanted the opportunity to talk to you. My desire to ask you awesome questions about my exciting and rewarding life has only been heightened since I completely lost the ability to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s on TV. Since you are the father of all Vulcan logic and thought, it seems reasonable that you would spend most of your time answering letters from people like me on your really cool looking website. So let me tell you a little bit about myself:
I am thirty-five years old and live with my five cats in a cool one bedroom apartment in midtown Kansas City (my cats’ names are Sybok, Gom Jabbar, Ford Prefect, Box, and Dalek). I work a stupid job at the Gas ‘N’ Sip just to pay the bills but my real passions are watching Star Trek, playing Magic (the old version, not that new dumbed-down version), and collecting. I’ve got a massive collection of comic books, model kits, autographs of my favorite Starfleet personnel, uniforms, real Starfleet equipment (phasers, tricorders, communicators, etc.), soundtracks (I’ve got a copy of the soundtrack for The Wrath of Kahn actually signed by Judson Scott!!!), and videos. My collector’s mania not only includes Star Trek but encompasses the entire world of what people call Science Fiction (but I like to call Science Fact!), so don’t think I’m a freak or anything. I also like Dr. Who, after all!
Anyway, I was wondering if you could, in all of your infinite Vulcan wisdom, help me out with one little thing. I’ve been reflecting lately upon my life and reading back the paragraph that I just wrote before this one really drives it home for me: could you please take some time off from your Federation council meetings and from saving Kirk’s ass from getting speared and come down to earth and kill me? I mean, my apartment stinks and I haven’t had a date in…. ever. I don’t bathe too often, I’ve got acne all over my body, and I only wear shirts with aliens and shit on them. Please don’t let me have anything to do with ever making babies! (Not that I could even get a girl to like me enough to see me naked.) I am a hazard to my fellow humans and need to be exterminated. That’s all. Thanks, dude.