Jim:

A while back here on my comedy website thing, which is highly regarded by my mom, I invited Emma Stone to enter the “Win a Date with RobbieRobTown” contest. She did not enter then, nor has she submitted an entry since I reopened the contest earlier this summer.  To be fair, Emma Stone hasn’t the foggiest idea who I am, or if I am charming, homicidal, or both. So, to preface this letter without any further speculation, I am not writing this to tell you to keep your mitts offa my lady, as such a statement would be untrue, sexist, and incalculably fucktarded.

I am addressing this letter to you because we are fellow Canadians and fellow entertainers. The interwebs are all aflutter about your intent. Were you being sincere, yet creepy? Were you exploring an unusual marketing strategy? Did you two have some kind of secret tryst which you could no longer bear to disguise? Irrelevant, all. Jim, I am writing you this letter because of the genius of what you have done. Please hear me out.

Every joe-average nerdy person has had a crush on a celebrity. Mine are rare, but I have had a few (Emma, looking at you). On a much more personal and revealing note, I think celebrities should know how confused and sweetly unrequited these celebrity crushes can be. In the depths of my nerdiest despair, I have sometimes watched and re-watched a movie (yeah, okay, Zombieland) and searched online in vain to see if somehow I could come up with a way of actually meeting this celebrity. I think these fantasies, while obviously immature and implausible, are kind of cute. The imaginary journey never ends well for me. Usually, I meet some celebrity (yes, yes, I meet Emma Stone specifically) at a ComiCon party because I have a connection with one of the big corporate sponsors there, and we chat, and she’s really nice, and we live such different lives that she sensibly ends the conversation and goes about her business. Everyone who has ever been a fan of a performer knows the weird mixture of feelings that accompanies the simultaneous sense of knowing someone well through their work, and yet rationally understanding that they are total strangers.  The closer I actually get to a chance to meet a celebrity, the more heightened (and therefore more hilarious and tragic) my celebrity crush can become!

I have a mutual friend of Malin Akerman, did you know that, Jim? True story! I’m a performer-comedy type guy, so I know people who know people, but a friend of mine is an acquaintance of hers and she was willing to pass on a message to THE Malin Akerman from me at one point. The Watchmen was big in the theatres, and I was lonely (Surprising news, right? When am I not lonely? God, and I have a whole website to whine about it on) and this friend said “Yeah, I know Malin, you really want to meet her?”. Of course my answer was “Yes!”, but then I was completely paralysed.

What would I say?

“Oh, hi, successful famous artist. I am an unsuccessful, unfamous artist. Are you one of the 297 fans of my music on Facebook? Perhaps you are a fan of my improv comedy work- I’m on local cable access right now, you know, 5 nights a week! How much did I get paid for that, you ask? Oh, nothing. What is that you asked? Yes, the only TV in my 602 square foot condo IS a Samsung, thank you for noticing!”

That’s where the fantasy ends for us normal folks. What could we say to impress someone who impresses us so much already? What makes me seem special, other than my boyish good looks (Yes, yes, SPCMike, other than my scarred, hideous face and lice problem). There is a kind of begrudging hopelessness about celebrity crushes.

Anywhozle, Jim, what you have done is give a much needed boost of confidence to every human everywhere who has ever loved an artist. If even you, JIM MOTHERFUCKING CARREY can be smitten by a star, and be forced to make your feelings public through the only avenue that you have, then that means something both sad and wonderful: Even famous celebrities have sweet unrequited loves that they have no means of , uh, requiting. Sure, I’m sad about being outcompeted by a famous person, but you are very funny and very successful, and a rather good actor, I think.  Even still, JIM MOTHERFUCKING CARREY had to send a sad, sweet message into the ether to try to heal his heart.

With the proviso that your message to Emma was intended as sincere, it rings painfully true for a lot of us- Not because it is directed at Emma Stone (who is awfully charming) , but because you have hit a raw nerve that most of the normal folks out here have. I need to speak to you now as a fellow comedian. A lot of great comedy comes from truthful things, however, Jim, if this all turns out to be a clever ploy to do some Hollywoood weirdness I can’t comprehend, then I must insist you do us all a favour: Tell no one that you didn’t mean it. It is such a nice boost to the ego to think that someone as popular and famous as you could be smitten, and forlorn, and a bit sadly desperate. I would be most displeased to find out that you were pulling a fast one on us. If this was a piece of slick guerrilla theatre, or bizarre performance art, don’t tell a soul. Let the rest of us mere mortals go on believing that love is tough, even for you. We’d be heartbroken to discover that you replicated the sad, and I suppose vaguely funny emotions that nobodies like me honestly feel, and then exploited them as a joke.

Anyway, I hope it’s all real, I really do. I hope That Emma Stone sees it as complimentary, and I hope she enters my contest (but not really, because I’m funnier when I have a lot to complain about).

Oh, and if this does all turn out to be totally real, I wish you a speedy recovery from your sadness. I personally hope that I will one day feel the same way about Emma Stone as I currently feel about The Refreshments. Do you remember that first Refreshments album? Wasn’t it awesome? Where are those guys now?

Thank you for sharing that with us Jim, and don’t betray us little folk by making a joke at the expense of our vulnerabilities.

Sincerely,

RobbieRobTown

P.S. Emma, I know this is terrible timing, but the contest is still open. The rules, as a reminder, are that you must submit your ideas for a dream date with me, via email, or in comment form below. The disqualified entrants in past lived outside of the Americas, or suggested illegal activities. I’ll be here, waiting I guess, and listening to “Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big and Buzzy”.

It’s Robbie Robtown’s Birthday today.

Totes! For Reals! Golly Wonkers!

If you are looking for a gift ideas, he lieks chocolate milk. And redheads.

If someone could stuff her in a cake and send her over to the Correctness head office right away it would be appreciated.

Or if looking for shopping ideas…you can check out this article here.

Happy Birthday RRT! The set of ankle wings I bought you are in the mail.

Dear Supposed RobbieRobTown Fan club:

Some time ago, TBinns became convinced there was a vast, sexy conspiracy surrounding me. As a consequence of his delusion about my “fan club”, TBinns suggested we hold a contest to win a Dream Date with yours truly.

Here are some contest Fun Facts:

Total number of entries: 2.

Total qualifying entries based on rules: 0

Number of times Emma Stone, who I specifically invited to enter the contest, entered the contest: 0

TBinns is a dear friend, and certainly must not have intended to prove how immensely and universally disinteresting I am to women, gay men, and the complexly transgendered.  Nonetheless, he has proven that only people who have personally met me are interested in a date with me, and my writing does not, in fact, speak for itself as some hilarious envoy of my sex appeal. My writing, in terms of its metaphorical function in acting on my behalf, is less like an diplomatic envoy, and more like an out of date newsletter with a strip of tearaway numbers, perhaps advertising the sale of a NES or a used mattress. There are bite marks on the controller from my sister.

Now, to be fair, the stakes may have been a bit high, the pressure is always on you folks to say “the funnies”, and I am sorry if that dissuaded any of you from entering. God knows, I feel the hot breath of the failure monster down my neck every time I submit the briefest quip to this intimidating website. Let’s take a moment to congratulate our two brave  entrants for their work:

NotVictoria (whose name is actually Victoria) submitted a literal dream date she had with me in it, during which I committed felonies, apparently. Victoria was sadly disqualified because I can’t really make her dreams come true, nor can I eat at McDonalds without experiencing immediate, and violent, diarrhea. She is the winner by default though, and we are arranging dinner, anywhere but fucking McDonalds, that greasy nightmare fuckhole.

Irene (whose real name is Irene) submitted an excellent date involving passage aboard the Nostromo, and a show at Westworld, amongst other things. Irene was disqualified purely because of distance, she is in Singapore currently.

Emma Stone was disqualified by not entering at all, likely due to her fear that I am an insane fan who would harm her. I would not, but I guess young Hollywood can’t be too careful these days. Plus, she has never met me, and consequently has no idea of my improbable personal charm. She would be tearing my phone number off and shopping for a NES.

I think this should put to rest any questions any of you may have had about me, the contest, or Emma Stone.

Next contest: Name TBinns Baby! Rules: TBinns will name his baby whatever you suggest, no matter how stupid. Contest closes in 7 months or so…

P.S. Currently seeking the Ramona Flowers to my Scott Pilgrim- Though, if you are Kim Pine, that might be cooler…

Dear Correctness Readers:

A lot of people ask us how we here at The Correctness can generate so much fresh content, ensuring that so much of our written effort is largely ignored by the people we hope read our articles, like Henry Kissinger or Emma Stone. “How can you generate so much fresh, funny content?” those people ask us, redundantly, “That could be enjoyed by Henry Kissinger for example, or Emma Stone, perhaps?” they continue, reiteratively.

Well, the secret to our success, apart from my stunning good looks, is filler.

“Filler?” You ask?

“Filler.” I respond, nodding. “Fill.The.Fuck.Er.”

“How,” you begin, “does filler help you generate content”, you continue “for your site?” you conclude.

It’s easy. Or, in the convention of the above dialogue, “It’s easy”. There are literally threes of ways to use filler and fluff to plump up even the weakest premise and make sure that people keep coming back to your website!

Pictures of things are also good filler.

1. Make lists of things

Lists of things require minimal effort. You just have to think about a category of things, and then list them. That’s easy. Here are some things you could make lists of:

a) Dogs
b) Cats
c) Lamps
d) Colours of mittens you have owned.
e) Types of mittens.
f) Types of kittens.
g) Colours of kittens wearing mittens.
h) Types of kittens wearing colours of mittens.
i) Triangular Diplomacy in the Nixon administration.
j) Types of lamps.
k) Colours of things that could be on lists.
l) Types of Nixons.

Just imagine the fun you could have discussing lamps!

2. Have an opinion. Have a point of view. Have a burrito.

Maybe, for the sake of argument, lamps make you really angry. You can generate a list of things about lamps, and then narrow it down to the few things that really bother you about lamps. Many of my recent articles highlight my grievances with a specific subject. FYI, another great way to generate filler is to link to things you have already written and use them as examples, like this:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/correctness/a-critique-of-celebrity-tweets-and-primarily-justin-bieber/

or, to a much lesser extent, like this:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/writing/stopping-by-the-woods-to-poop-on-a-summers-eve-by-r-frost/

By venting angrily about the minor annoyances that are inherent to almost any subject, you can spend seconds upon seconds of reader time cranking enjoyment juice into their fun-hungry tummies. Let’s use the lamp thing as an exemplar . Perhaps try our classic “open Letter” format which we are so fond of here at The Correctness. FYI, I typed “asan exemplar” and Microsoft corrected it to “Asian”. The racist concept of a singular Asian exemplar is just another of the typical offensive coding errors present in Word 2007, see the following:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/writing/an-open-letter-to-microsoft-re-word-2007-list-of-demands/

Now, I said we would try using the open letter format with our weak, but serviceable “lamps” rant, and we would see what kind of gold we could prospect from this iron ore mine.

Dear Lamps:

You broke my heart, lamp.

I have often used you for lighting, along with ceiling fixtures and rope light. Your free ride just ended, however, because I’m sick of your shit, Lamps. You. Make. me. Sick. You are always burning out and needing new bulbs. What is that, planned obsolescence? You are hard to clean. I always have to be the one to turn you on, you never turn me on. You lamps are always coming home late and not telling me where you were, showing up drunk, hurling abuse both verbal and physical, and then threatening suicide, only to break down crying and beg me not to call an ambulance, making me complicit in your carefully constructed facade of sanity. Fuck you, lamps!

Sincerely,
Blah blah blah

Now, to be fair, that didn’t really seem to be focused on lamps so much as my own issues, but it would still be a place to start.

3. Having a third thing in your list of things

Having a third thing really helps to round your thing out. Your thing won’t seem a lush, full or complete without a third thing. When God created the Heavens and the Earth, he said, “Let there be light, but not fucking lamps, and let there be some fish and plants n’ shit, and let there be a third, humourous thing!” and when that guy makes demands, things happen! That third thing is everywhere. Always have a third thing.

The only thing that shouldn’t have a third thing is this thing:

10 PRINT “Always have a Third Thing”

20 GOTO 10

If you are looking hard at that solitary example of a list of things that shouldn’t have a third thing, there is still a third thing embedded in it, both as text, but also implied in the absent line 30 which is line 10 repeated.

So, dear readers, I hope that helps. I know a lot of you publish comedy on a several times weekly basis, and you can now generate content like words are going out of style. To recap:

1. Make Lists of things

2. Lunch.

3. A Third Thing.

Sincerely Yours,

RobbieRobTown

P.S.  Still waiting on your contest submission, Emma.

Dear Emma:

By way of introduction, my name is RobbieRobTown. Okay, actually,  my screen name is RobbieRobTown, but my actual name is Handsome McSwashbuckley, or possibly Spacey McDinosaur. You can request my real name at your convenience, I’m just not posting it here, that would just be stupid- I’m a student teacher for God’s sake, so I really don’t want my adorable grade 1 kids next semester looking up my last name on the intertubes and seeing the kinds of things that either A) I say in the name of satire, or B) people say about me in the name of internet anonymity.

For manifold and complex reasons (Vrooom! Manifold!), I have only recently seen Zombieland. However, I finally did see it, in the Ikea-filled presumption that is my condo, and on the obsolescent format that is the Digital Versatile Disc ( I checked, the “V” does not, in fact, stand for “video”.). To help you imagine it, my condo is on the second storey of a concrete and brick structure,  built to coincide with the invention of Don Johnson. The colour scheme no longer matches Don Johnson in any way, thanks to some quick thinking from our condominium board. Pink and avocado, Emma, it was all pink and avocado.  Furthermore, to help you imagine a Digital Versatile Disc, it is a silver circle with a hole in the center and a blueish cast  on the back- My guess is you’ve seen one of those, I just wanted you to have all the relevant facts.

My point being that I immensely enjoyed your performance- Immensely? A lot? A lot, and I soon realized I had also seen you in The House Bunny, in which you were very, very funny. I am an improviser, and I have seen some funny, and that was some funny. I have not yet seen Superbad, as I was not allowed out of my house for most of the last decade, primarily due to unforeseen circumstances and a series of comically bad relationships- In fact, have you done any cable television that I could watch in reruns? Maybe I’ve seen you on TV while I was dressed up and waiting for series of girlfriends to not come home. But I digress, again…I digress a lot. I am an admitted cross-digressor.

I note that you have not yet entered the contest we are holding on our comedy site to win a date with me. I suspect that it isn’t because you find me repulsive (as you have not yet met me, and I assure you I am not repulsive, per se…), but simply because you are not aware that we are holding a contest to win a date with me. Well, allow me to elucidate – Elucidate? Illuminate? Inform? Say at you. Allow me to say at you:

One of my fellow writers, the popular and productive Mr TBinns was slighted by a fan of our website the other day, in public. Whilst (whilst!)  he was emasculated and disempowered as a self-actualized human, he discovered that I have an immense hypothetical female fan base. I repeat: An immense hypothetical female fan base. I remain dubious of this fact, and I would suggest  that my limited, actual  fan base extends significantly to gay men, for whose support  I am eternally grateful.   Additionally, I would go as far to say that my core demographic of supporters are women over 45 and girls under 20, both of whom like boy bands.  In fact, while I understand that teenage girls see me as funny and harmless and therefore safe, I can only assume the over 45 set see me as innocent, and therefore deserving of being violated. Oh, the number of times I have been doing a “Moving Bodies” scene at some corporate improv gig, and a woman has simply dry humped me to the amusement of her cackling coworkers… but I digress… or do I… No, I do. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been friction burned by silk and wool business casual, I’d probably have made a buck twenty-five by now. That means that has happened about 25 times, if you were counting, which, if you aren’t already disgusted and are still reading, you probably weren’t.

Returning once again from my tangential nightmares, I would like to personally invite you to enter our contest. While I’m sure it would deeply disappoint NotVictoria, who is our only contest entrant so far, I also have a hunch she would understand.

To clarify a few points, first, I am not asking you out. You are asking me out, by entering the “Win a Dream Date with RobbieRobTown” contest.  If you win the contest, then I will gleefully go on a date with you.  I will not suggest a location for our date, because it is your dream date with me. I will however say that I live close to Banff National Park, and in a city with a major international airport should your plans involve travel.  As well, you should know that I don’t drink, so if you need to get hammered to get through this, then you should respectfully decline. Please decline in writing, or I will otherwise be awaiting your submission for a dream date with me.

Finally, you should know that I have retired from dating, and this contest is really the only circumstance in which I will come out of retirement- Though, let me add that if you say the words “rock show” or “waterslide”, I will be very, very intrigued. Hollywood is very skinny right now, So, I’ll fit in with my shirt off at this waterslide-rock show.

Oh man, wouldn’t it be rad now that Blur is back together to see them while in a wave pool? Or, Band of Horses maybe, though it’s not so much that they would sound better humid, only that I had kind of forgotten how much I like them until just this week.  I’d love to see Paul McCartney, but it just strikes me that he wouldn’t play a waterpark. Actually, I can think of a dozen bands that would be really fun to see while skipping down the Slide-aconda ™ at 50mph, or something.

OH! Okay, if we saw Muse at a science center, that was beside a waterpark? I’m sorry, it’s your dream date, I’m getting ahead of myself, but seriously, Muse rocking a planetarium while some guy dips food in liquid nitrogen, that we then grill and eat at the waterpark? That would be one hell of a show. Better than GWAR maybe, whose music I dislike, but whose show is incomprehensibly awesome. They have dinosaurs, Emma, dinosaurs.

In any case, I’m looking forward to your entry. I hope you have a fun date in mind for us!

Sincerely,

RobbieRobTown

P.S. I note that you have twenty-five-some-odd-thousand fans on your facebook fan page who frequently request that you add them as personal friends. Rather than write something like “Wil U pls + Mii”, which I think you will agree is fundamentally meaningless, as well as difficult to type from a phone, I suggest that you can read my microfiction here: http://twitter.com/RobbieRobTown and that if you get through my privacy barriers, I will add you.  Heck, become a fan of The Correctness on facebook. We have, like, um, less fan peoples than you, but that doesn’t mean our work is to be less respected. I’ll have none of that!

P.P.S: You can enter the contest by commenting below, just make up some fake email address. Contest closes August 1st.

P.P.P.S. One of my friends has already considered entering as “Fake Emma Stone”. While this is a touch mean-spirited, this is a contest, and whoever suggests the best dream date, no matter how fictional they are, wins.