Dear Mr. Schoeffling,
Attached, please find residual check number 1139 for your 1985 karaoke cover of “If You Were Here” by Thompson Twins.
It is our most popular song in the following bracket: Caucasian women in the Midwest, ages 48-51½.
Additionally, it remains the lead-off track in our evergreen playlist, “Jacking Off to the 80s.”
Sexy Songs To Get You Humming Ltd.
It is day number 12,697 since Sixteen Candles was released, which makes this letter number 12,697 and, this time, I SWEAR, it’s the last one.
I should have known when you skipped my P.E. final in 9th grade to make out with Linda Lamano RIGHT OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM WINDOW that I couldn’t depend on you, but I thought that since I gave you an A anyway, you’d know I was YOUR BIGGEST FAN.
What has all these years of writing you without a single response gotten me?
Nada. Crickets. And now, fibromyalgia.
It’s over, Mike. I’m done.
Your BIGGEST fan,
P.S.- You know who DID write back after all these years? Nikki Rodgers, class of ’91, Miss September 1995. Signed her headshot and all. Not at all the photo I thought I’d get back from a former Playboy bunny, but I digress. Class act.
Dear Michael Shoffling,
I don’t know where else to turn. My ex-best-friend and neighbor is obsessed with you and read on the internet that you gave up acting to become a carpenter. She has developed a sexual fixation on my carpenter husband, who also wears sweater vests. She’s only after Donnie because he would fulfill her Jake Ryan fantasy so could you please write to that whore and tell her you aren’t a carpenter (even if you are) and ask her to back. the. fuck. up?
Thank you in advance,
Me and the other Fantastic Fours are begging you. Our GoFundMe raised $6,782, all of which is yours if you just show up at the Porsche show.
It’ll be off the hook. The Boxster Babes took over from the Spyder Spinsters at the dunking booth. Panzerians are planning a scavenger hunt, and there’ll be a raffle called “Cayenne I Interest You In A Car?”
We need you to keep our car in the spotlight, man. You don’t even have to talk. Just five minutes, max. Park outside and lean up against your sweet cherry ride and you get the dough.
Porsche 944 Owners Club
Remember me? Geek #8 in Sixteen Candles. I was the one who repeatedly fondled your nuts wearing the shocking hand buzzer before they cut the scene. You’ll be happy to know that my hand sweat affliction has been cured by Botox. I sincerely hope there was no lasting damage to your nuts OR your nutsack. It’s cool that Long Duk Dong got credit for the nut-grabbing even though it was me who grabbed your nuts, what, tens of times?
I’m thinking about getting back in the biz and am reaching out to all my old peeps and was hoping you could hook up a friend.
You don’t know me, but my dad and stepmom forgot my 16th birthday this year. My stepmonster’s favorite movie is Sixteen Candles (ironic, right?) and she’s prego with a boy she plans to name, what else, Jake (gross, right?). She’s getting a c-section on March 2, so it would be killer if you could show up at the bris and just wait for me outside the synagogue. I’d pay to see her stupid face.
PS- Temple Beth Shalom, Westerville, PA March 10 at 2pm.
PSS- I’ll be the one with my ears triple pierced and my hair is balayage, wearing a highlow yellow dress (hot, right?).
Hoping you can help us out, bro. My group is getting bigger (there are 7 of us now and I think you’ll agree that women suck but what we really want is to get laid and I thought you might be able to tell us how do that.
How do you do that?
If you don’t want to tell us, fuck you, Chad. You look like a douche anyway.
In the bonds of brotherhood,
David Herrman, Incel Boyz Founder
Drew Barrymore here. When my house burned down in 2001, instead of being sad, I drove away grinning like I was flashing my tits on a late night talk show. It dawned on me that instead of wallowing in self-pity, I could choose to be gratitudiful.
I started writing thank yous monthly, starting with the most important people—the Puppy Chow commercial casting agent, my godmother Sophia Loren, and the Poltergeist—and now, 18 years later, here we are.
This month, it’s you. You, Michael, the one with the bite. The lip bite. The sexy bite that propelled my career to unimaginable heights, far past anything I could have imagined when I was just a tyke stealing Brandy Alexanders from Steven Spielberg. The bite that snagged hubbies 1 and 3 (but not Tom Green. He saw me vomit in an alley in Chinatown after a bad batch of crab Rangoon one night and was a smitten kitten). The bite I first saw when I watched your lips on the movie that played on the ceiling of that warehouse in Sherman Oaks while I crowd-surfed in a mosh pit at 3 a.m. on my 10th birthday.
It was you, Michael, who invented the bite that changed my life.
So thank you, Michael, my kindred wildflower. With love in my heart and fire in my loins and my bottom lip in my teeth,
Dear Mr. Schoeffling,
We are writing to ask you to denounce Sixteen Candles, for reasons far too numerous to name.
MADD- Mothers Against Drunk Driving
Asian American Association
NBMA- Neck Brace Manufacturers of America
Focus on the Family
PETA- People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
ASIA (American Spinal Injury Association)
The Nerdy Nonprofit
Coalition to Reduce Underage Drinking
The Itty Bitty Titty Committee
GSM- Global Scissors Manufacturers
International Student Exchange Programs
PERIOD. Leading the Menstrual Movement
The Coalition of Muscle Relaxant Manufacturers
Boys and Girls Club of America
Mrs. Sherman’s 10th Grade Social Justice Warriors
Governors’ Highway Safety Association
Lil’ Brothers Are People Too
Rolls Royce Motors
Stationary Bikes Unlimited
and Molly Ringwald
Leigh Lewis is a children’s writer who sometimes feels the need to write things definitely not intended for children. Follow her at @leighwriting on Twitter.
Show Leigh some love via PayPal at leigh_lewis(at)yahoo(dot)com.