Dear Ms. Fey,
Congrats on your sweet Golden Globe, SAG and now Emmy hat trick, a feat unheard of since last year’s Ugly Betty (though you did it without braces). Your razor wit and new-baby cleavage make you a true inspiration to glasses-wearing women everywhere. 30 Rock is an ironic postmodernist masterpiece that’s like way better than The Office. The only thing missing: Me.
Besides a sarcastic sense of humour and intimate friendship with Lindsay Lohan, I feel you and I have much in common. We’re both Scottish and Greek (though replace my Greek with more Scottish). Our parents’ disproportional support has left us unfit for any conventional profession and inappropriate in every office environment. We’re therefore comedy writers, of varying successes.
I’ve considered my possible positions on your show and decided that best friend/co-head writer is the best fit for me personally. I don’t currently have or believe in a comedy CV or portfolio, but there is a brief stage of my spectrum of intoxication where I’m allegedly quite witty. (This usually occurs immediately before my grammatical inversion stage, when my vodka funny tastes cranberry.)
Luckily, I’ve also had much experience in front of the camera. I starred in numerous feature length high school video projects. Recently, I can often be seen drinking coffee and rolling my eyes in the background of the Slice Network. I was once the first runner-up to portray bad jeans model #3 in a makeover segment. I’ve also attached a blurry cell phone picture of me dressed as you on Halloween.
Though I’m very willing to play a variety of non-ugly characters on 30 Rock, I think I’d best portray a recent television grad who’s hired as your personal assistant. Possible hilarious story lines include a longstanding rivalry with a newly-promoted too-blonde turbo-slut Cerie, my avoidance of a non-requited affection from Kenneth the Page, and my improper Electra complex-y crush on Alec Baldwin.
Again, I offer my sincere apologies regarding our botched Rainbow Room martini meeting. I fear my emails to you were actually just sketched pictures in my diary of us holding hands. Our now mutual friend and security guard, Delroy, kindly escorted me from the 30 Rockefeller lobby and suggested I contact you legally via NBC mail.
I look forward to discussing this matter further over mozzarella cheese sticks and blood cookies. My thanks in advance for your consideration, for rightly calling Paris Hilton a piece of shit, and for making it feel ok to wear glasses to concerts (though not on dates).
Ps. I am also available for hire by Mr. Baldwin, should he need my services in any way. He can call me whatever derogatory names he wants, and I promise to like it.