Dear Philadelphia Cream Cheese,
Hey. I just wanted to say that I really enjoy your product. For the Tiller family's money, there's nothing like cracking open the foil around a new package on a Sunday morning.
Ha! Listen to me. All giddy like a schoolgirl. I can't help it. I love your cheese so damn much. It's just so smooth and creamy. When it hits my tongue, I just... I just forget about everything for a second, you know?
I hope you don't mind if I tell you a story. I'm a... I won't mention any specifics, but I'm a pretty big deal for a college sports team. And I have a quarterback whose last name is Painter. Anyway, he likes to run around the locker room with his member out, which he has named "The Tonsil Painter." He doesn't do anything with it, per se--this isn't Greece--but I know he's got my daughter's cell phone number and I know she's gotten some pretty horrifying "pix messages" that she won't show me. Probably all the better.
I wish I could eat your cheese every day. It makes me feel so good. My doctor said my arteries are stuffed and I should probably be on the Crestor or Valtrex or something. I don't give a damn. I don't want to live 30 more years if it's nothing but retirement and steamed vegetables and incontinence.
I hope I'm not being too forward here, but I had a guy get arrested for stealing condoms from the corner store a couple months ago. Condoms! I just don't get it with the kids and the sex! I know my pants are tight thinking about making a Philly bagel with a side of Philly fries, but I think that's because I bought these in '98 and they're really constrictive. Hell, I haven't even seen my penis since I was out in Wyoming. I do just fine. You don't see me stealing condoms.
Sometimes I think about buying a store's entire supply of your cream cheese, filling my bathtub with it, and just rolling around in it and eating it by the handful for a week. I don't know if that's sanitary, but that's what I want to do.
Did you know that they decided I was retiring? Isn't that just a damn criminal shame? Replacing me with some guy named Hope or something. Younger guy, of course. What kind of world is this where I can't do my damned job at my own leisure? I'm a coach! I'm a father to these kids! I won't be ignored, Philadelphia cheese!
Get away from me, honey! You're damned right I'm drinking a bottle of Wild Turkey and scooping spoonfuls of this glorious cheese into my mouth. And no, I will not put my clothes back on. I need this.
I NEED THIS.
GOD FUCK YOUR STUFF IS FUCKING GREAT
DON'T YOU DARE CALL THE FUCKING COPS HONEY
AAAAAGH
Sincerely,
J. Tiller