David Letterman's Love Letters to Stephanie Birkitt: A Movieline Reenactment

From: Mr. Carney

To: Gunter

Subject: RE:

Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:24:54 -0400

My worldwide hotpants:

So I was going through the McDonald's drive-thru today [pause for laughter]...Sorry, I had a couple of pre-love letter cocktails. This is a first-draft, isn't it? [Pause for more laughter.] And ten thoughts were nagging away at me, but I'll focus on the top three nagging thoughts. One the taping schedule is about to get real busy (and this distresses me for the way it may well make it more difficult to pull Caryn away from her show-logging duties to take dictation), two unfortunately all the feelings you describe are mutual, and three where do we go from here, what with me sort of being tied down these days and you living with gay biker John Travolta.

We taped a segment with Richard Simmons today, and something about Caryn disinfecting the chair with Pledge upholstery cleaner reminded me of the first time I made you do that. Then I ran into the Grinder Girl backstage after an Is This Anything segment and she asked about you and I told her you'd finished somewhere not in the lower half of your law class and that I was trying to convince you to come back as the show's lawyer. It turns out the Grinder Girl actually has a degree in copyright law, in addition to her talent for making sparks off her metal corset! So you better hurry up and decide, Gunter!

Two, mutual feelings. I have been specializing for some time now in giving folks at home an hour of quality entertainment five times a week -- and you have my quintuple-bypassed heart. Do you really comprehend how beautiful your smile is when you perform your college boyfriend's fratboy dance? Have you been told lately how warm your eyes are and how they softly glow with the special nature of your soul. Since our first meeting in that somewhat open air lunch spot selling a variety of tubed meats on the corner of 54th and Broadway, I sensed your profound inner and outer beauties to the core of my Midwestern being. As the battle scars of life and aging and the late show wars have carried on this has become a real need of mine. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle deskside backrubs, or that I love the impressions your ill-fitting bras leave in your back, or that I love the way you look in a musty old NBC page jacket and nothing else, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent cuts of ham) in the faded glow of the marquee light -- but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the Hello Deli at dinner -- and unlike you I would never do that!

Lastly I also suspect I feel a little vulnerable because this is all very new and alien to me. I don't think we have a permit for the things I'm feeling.

PS. I will make it a point to drop by the Virgin Megastore and get you that movie I promised ... I am encouraged to know you will not keep it beside the bed lest we have tangible evidence of being the only two boob-headed heels on the planet goofy enough in love to own DVD copies of Cabin Boy.

----------------------------------------------

Pages: 1 2 3