Dear Scarlett Johansson,
Back in February during the Democratic primary, you called my answering machine and you asked me to vote for your candidate Barack Obama in that beautiful, sexy voice of yours. Though I admit I saved that recording for months and I’d play it back from time to time on cold dark nights, no one can say whether Barack got my vote because of his hopeful message or because of your smokey, just-rolled-out-of-bed message. The point is: I did vote for Barack and he won the nomination.
Now, I never expected that you’d call me back and say “Hey, thanks for voting Obama. Would you like to have dinner with me?” or something like that, but I kind of thought you might at least call me to urge me to vote for your guy one more time. I waited. And I waited. The police chief called me. Some firefighter guy called me. I think even Dianne Feinstein called me, but I heard nothing at all from you. Not a word.
I guess you’re busy now with your music career and stuff, but how long does it take to pick up the phone? You know, I’m beginning to suspect that maybe you just used me. You thought you had me in the bag so you moved on to other causes and other voters. Well, the least you could’ve done was text me and tell me it was over. Is that really asking too much? Am I being clingy?
I just don’t know anymore. Maybe I’ll vote for that old dude who can’t lift his arms above his head. Anyway, you can sure forget about that mix tape I was going to send you.
P.S. You can still call me if you want.