Love or, if you must, “wuv”, is a human emotion involving stupidity. Think about the man who drops to his knees with a record player held aloft as his mix cassette blasts out I Should Be So Lucky by Kylie Minogue. The man is an idiot.
He should have written a love letter – and so should you! Come with us, then, as we journey into the disgusting, nauseating world of pouring out your heart onto paper.
The Art of Writing Love Letters
The love letter has several intentions. You may, for instance, as a man struggle to express your feelings to your dame of choice.
Or, if you are a dame, you may struggle to get through to your geezer. A lovely love letter can facilitate this emotional union.
Consequently, if you want to bag a bloke, or date a dame, then your emotive letter must strike at their beating heart. So long as you render them swooning in wonder at your romantic revelations, all should be well. Your letter should:
- Make at least one revelation. “I wuv you, snookums!” is mandatory. However, drop in a few other major news items to ramp up the melodrama: “Don’t worry about the ex wife, she’s dead – I dumped her corpse into the cesspit out back”, “You may have heard a rumour I’m £200,000 in debt, but that’s only 100% accurate”, “I snore bad” etc.
- Be utterly nauseating in its sickly sweet platitudes.
- Offend absolutely everybody except for your love interest.
- Be emotive enough to land yourself in prison, should the letter slip into the hands of the local authorities.
- Use many action verbs. And profanity!
Okay, that’s enough waffle. On with the show!
An Example of an Excellent Love Letter
Okay, so now it’s time to write your love letter. Scared? Good! You should be. Screw this up and the dame of your dreams will clear off with the guy who can get grammar right (see our post on how to write proper).
So, we’ve written this from the POV of a bloke to a bird, primarily as men are less effective with letter writing than women.
I bestow unto you my many, many loves that stretch 77,001 miles into the distance like a really massive bastard. You is belting. And I now list the many things I find belting about you:
- You don’t smell bad and you ain’t funny looking.
- You ain’t stolen my wallet (yet).
- When I look at you, I dribble a bit (but that might be because of a stroke).
- All I can think about is you, your earlobes, and your Ferrari.
- Every time you laugh I want to impale your skull on a pike (in a good way).
- You make me feel like a real man, as opposed to a fake one (i.e. a robot). [Insert dame’s name], I feel an intense loathing for you that’s matched by an intense clothing for you.
Ever since I said to you in that club, “Get your coat, love, you’ve pulled” I’ve been a changed man. And by that I don’t mean like a sex change, babe, because I are all man. I’ll strip naked right now to prove it. There! I’m naked!
The old lady in the coffee shop where I’m scrawling this out is giving me funny looks, but my nudity represents my yearning to drive your Ferrari. And when I do, I’ll look over at you and think to myself (or maybe say it aloud), “Damn… this bitch is special!” And I’ll shed a tear.
Or just belch. Depends how many beers I’ve had by that point, I guess, I mean I’m on my sixth as I write this and getting a bit emotional. I’m sobbing like a right big girl. Okay, well I’ve put Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You on now and it’s at full volume. The barista told me to turn it down, babe, but for you I’m willing to get kicked out of this cafe! And before I hand this love letter to you in a state of drunken confusion, take heed of my love poem for you: You’re in luck, because I’m as fit as ****, You got my attention, ‘cos of your sweet pension, An’ you got a Ferrari, which is better than some barley, But I ain’t innit for your car, I prefer your bra, Plus you’re not bad lookin’, and you’re good at cookin’, So marry me, ‘cos I’m not a flea. Aiiiiiiiiie, mofo. Uh huh, yeah. With acres of love stretching into the distance, as aforementioned, like a massive bastard, I bid you farewell. x
P.S. I contemplated adding more than one “x” but “xx” seems intrinsically minimalistic, “xxx” is perverted, and any number higher than three is an extravagance and/or vomit inducing.
So, please don’t take the solitary “x” to represent anything other than my attempts to obliterate any chances of your puking all over this love letter. It’s with such gentlemanly conduct as this that I hope you let me drive your Ferrari.
As you can see, this is a brilliant love letter.
Only the most hardened soul would fail to weep at this man’s obvious general fondness for his dame (plus, his overt love for her Ferrari). But there are key points to remember when you replicate the above:
- Limit the profanity.
- Include at least one love poem/song.
- Indicate marriage is on your mind (but try to insinuate she’ll have to fork out for the engagement ring).
- Try to make it clear you’re not a total wanker.
With the above in mind, it’s only a matter of time before she swoons for you.
And on the opposite scale, if you’re a dame, take the above love letter template, chuck it in the bin, and just let the guy drive your Ferrari. If you don’t have such an automobile, steal one.