Dear Mr. Bridges,
Todd motherfuckin’ Bridges! Happy 38th Birthday, my man! So what’s happenin’, Willis? I’ve noticed you have tons of movie credits to your name lately but they all seem to be a pretty big departure from your days as the debonair big brother of Arnold Jackson. What gives? Thanks to you, I understand the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum, what might be right to you, may not be right to some. But, Willis, it seems to me that starring in Flossin: A Lesson about Keepin’ It Real just isn’t a great career move. Then again, what do I know; I’m not the one who dated Charlene. Aw yeah, baum chicka baum baum. Are ya feelin’ me, dawg?
So I was thinking Willis, you and me should get together. I’m a huge fan of your work, especially anything pertaining to that “little black book” you always referred to on the “Strokes.” I figure, with my expertise on your career — I’ve studied your strengths and weaknesses like sailors used to study the skies at sea — I could navigate you to some serious loot. Let me know what you think. Whatever your current agent is charging you as commission, I’ll undercut him by 75%. And you can take that to the bank, my former child prodigy friend.
Happy Birthday. And get back to me, we can rap about it over a mocha.
Regards,
Nick Jezarian
P.S. You know where I can get a decent dime bag around here?
May 27, 1965 | Todd Bridges | stroke
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