Dear Difficult People,
I know we’ve only been together for two seasons now, but I have to get something off of my chest.
I love you.
I know what you’re probably thinking right now. “Who is this girl? Is she the fuckin’ loser I met at that bar that one time? The one with the weird ass story about how she almost got fined for taking lewd pictures with the wax statue of John Travolta? Holy shit, it is. What was her name again? Megan? Melissa? Madeline? Oh, screw it. I’ll just refer to her as Jessica because all white girl’s respond to that.” Yeah, it’s me. Madison.
I don’t want to bother you, I just wanted to let you know just how much I appreciate you- and because Buzzfeed kept denying my semi-ironic listicles, I figured there’s no better way than to get old fashioned 2011 and publicly type out a love letter to you so that the whole world can know just what I feel for you. (It’s pretty much the equivalent of me holding up a boom-box outside of your bedroom window, so be thankful. I’m being romantic, bitch.)
Your show is basically what would happen if all of my petty pop culture thoughts got put into a script and then played on Hulu. It’s delightful. I love being able to come home, pop off my bra, grab a glass of wine (who am I kidding, we all know it’s a whole bottle) and sit at my couch and passive aggressively agree with everything that Julie and Billy rant about. It’s like having best friends but without all the effort of actually having to be a friend in return to them.
I feel as if though I can live vicariously through the shitty situations that are constantly thrown in Julie and Billy’s way- because I, too, am a writer who (90% of the time) hates writing almost as much as I hate myself and everyone else in the entire world.
You’re crass and you’re wonderful like a wine mom with a chubby child who loves bitching about the brownies that Patrice brings to the bi-monthly PTA meetings. Fuck Patrice, her husband her sleeping with literally everyone and she has the audacity to make amazing brownies? What the fuck.
You’re rude and overflowing with attitude like the comments on a prepubescent celebrity’s Youtube channel. Get rekt, garfieldluver2002.
You’re as witty as the note I wrote to my ex when I found the creepy collection of Hilary Swank photos he had in his nightstand. (Okay, it wasn’t witty as much as it was passive aggressive distasteful humor that ended with a P.S. I Don’t Love You, or the movie P.S. I Love You.)
You’re as fucking hilarious as Chad Michael Murray’s post One Tree Hill career. That’s it. That’s the joke.
You’re the right amount of wrong and absolutely everything I aspire to be in life.
From abusing interns, murdering Nathan Lane, battling podcasters, creating hip-hop musicals about non-presidential presidents, working shit jobs, coming up with entrepreneurial schemes, and genuinely calling celebrities out on the pettiest of shit- you are a goddess among shows.
If you were on tinder, I’d swipe right. Fuck, I’d give you a goddamn super-like.
Keep being yourself, you beautiful bitch- because I am madly in love with everything that you are and hope you last longer than every shit sci-fi show that The CW is shoving down our throats right now.
Please don’t slap me with a restraining order.