Dear Mrs. Steve Phillips

Well now you have done it. You got both me and Steve fired. I hope you're happy. Why did you have to go to the papers. We could have worked it out.

You know Steve really wanted to be with me. Why else would he agree to have sex with me in the car all three times. I mean it's not like we didn't make plans. He told me I could ride in a float with him the next time the Met's won the World Series. But he told me not to hold my breath. Which is sort of strange because he always wanted me to hold my breath when we were together. At least when I was under the table for Baseball tonight.

I can't believe that you made Steve go to rehab for sex addiction. How could you? I mean it's not like he is like that nasty Micheal Douglas with the dead skin and shrunken eyes and the little weenie. I mean ok, Steve sort of has a Gary Busey thing going on but you have to pretend to be inscrutable if you are the general manager of the Mets. I mean look at Omar Minaya. Nobody understands what the fuck he is talking about. I mean he doesn't even speak English for God's sake!

If you hadn't have pulled this shit, Steve and I would have been together at the World Series. Like Jeter and his latest slut bag. Or A-Rod and Kate Hudson. Or Hidecki Matsui and his boyfriend that he pretends is his interpreter. You made me miss the series. They wouldn't even let me in the stadium. So I had to go to Florida instead.

While I was there I met a couple of friends. They are pissed at you too! I think we are going to have to come see you. Just to talk. You know. So you will give up Steve and he and I can finally be together. It is meant to be. You can't stand in the way of true love.

You see the force is strong in me.

Or maybe it's gas.

No, no it's the force.

Me and my friends will see you soon.

Toodles

Your friend

Brooke Hundley