With all due respect, Natalie, your decision to get yourself pregnant was very inconsiderate of my feelings. I will excuse your insensitivity on the grounds that you have absolutely no idea who I am, but that does not mean that I will not expect an apology after I tell you exactly who I am, and why I am upset. Who am I, you ask? Well, I am the nice young man who was supposed to marry and impregnate you.
Over the past few years friends and family have made many efforts to set me up with many, many women. All of them were beautiful, funny, and smart, just like you but not as much. Any guy would have been lucky to have a conversation with some of these women, not to mention a relationship. Because I am such a joy to feast one’s eyes on and an extraordinary human being in every respect, I would have had no problem finding a wonderful woman to marry and impregnate.
But I told my friends, “Thank you very much, but I want nothing to do with these women. I plan to marry and impregnate Natalie Portman.”
Naturally, my friends and family didn’t understand. They said things like, “but you don’t even know her,” “she’s out of your league,” “you’re obsessed,” “this isn’t healthy,” “Star Wars was shit.” You know what? They were right. Sure, I could have listened to them and moved on with my life. But if I learned anything at all from Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, I learned that anything can happen if you just believe in magic.
So, I would lie in my bed at night, staring at my V for Vendetta poster on the ceiling, trying my hardest to visualize you lying next to me. Oh, how I fantasized about kissing your hairless head, licking the tips of your eyelashes, pressing your eyebrows against mine, whispering Hebrew gutturals in your ear (ani ohev otach; ani ohev otach). I dreamt about you once a week, and three times during the High Holidays.
I should've known not to buy into that new-age nonsense. No matter how much I believed that I would wake up with your fingers in my mouth and your tongue on my neck, I always woke up with my fingers in my own mouth and my tongue on my neck. How I ever managed to make that happen, I don’t know. I just know that the malignant emptiness caused by you not magically appearing in my bed was unbearable. A man can only wake up Portmanless so many times before he finally moves on with his life. So I masturbated one last time to my V for Vendetta poster, took it down, wiped my hands with it, and tried to move on with my life.
Then, last month, I saw the trailer for Black Swan. You came soaring back into my life, Natalie. I immediately dropped my breakfast sandwich and rushed over to my local theater. “One for Black Swan, cinema employee!”
Literally every second of the movie was pure erotica for me. The rash on your back, the blood on your toenail, the bathtub scene, and your pornographic pirouettes all brought back those feelings that I tried my best to suppress over the last month or so. That scene in which you masturbate with your mom in the room brought me right back to that time that I masturbated to your strip-club scene in Closer without realizing that my mom was in the room (ha!).
I was falling deeper in love than I had ever been. By the time you turned into the black swan I was ready to release my feelings all over the heads of the people who were sitting in front of me. That certainly wasn’t the first time I wanted to fuck a weird human-swan creature, but I had never been that turned on by any non-human animal in my life.
I left the theater and went straight home to pack my suitcase. I knew I had no choice but to find out where you were so I could meet, marry, and impregnate you. I really had no choice at that point. There were times when you looked into the camera a certain way, and I just knew you were calling out to me: “Michael, marry and impregnate me.”
Well, Natalie, as I was waiting for the holiday airport rush to die down so that I could finally find you, I heard the news. This guy, Benjamin Milli-who-gives-a-fuck, had already won the race to your womb. Where does this guy get off getting off with you when I wanted to get off with you? Where do you get off, Natalie, ruining my dreams? Is that what gets you off, Natalie? Crushing the dreams of people who love you more than anything? Is that what gets you off? I’ll tell you what gets me off. Fantasizing about taking you from behind while wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. That’s what gets me off, but I won’t be able to do that now, will I? Now that you’ve shown how much you really don’t give a shit about your fans.
Actually, I’m happy for you, Natalie. I mean, it would never work out for us. Two insanely beautiful people would probably be too insanely beautiful to carry on a relationship. Our insanely beautiful DNA would probably make a baby who's too insanely beautiful to even bring out in public because people would just want to kill themselves for being so ugly and having such ugly families. They'd fucking hate themselves, Natalie. So, I think you’re better off with someone who doesn't come anywhere near my genetic prowess. I just hope that he will make you happy.
Mazel Tov!
M.E.
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