First, let me say that I appreciate the hug you gave me before I left your house the other day. You didn’t need to do that, but it was awesome that you did. If I seemed a bit overzealous returning the hug, know it’s only because I care. I know you were initially a bit standoffish about the whole thing; when we met I did reveal to you that I was neither sick nor dying, which I realize I might have hinted at heavily in my first letter to you; where I stated “I’m dying with sickness and all I want to do is hang out with John Krasinski”; but I know you had a good time, no matter what the police report said. While I agree that it was morally wrong to lie to you about the terminal illness, it got me a day with you, so I’m not too worried about the whole thing. I knew that if we hung out you’d realize we’d be best friends.
I had a lot of fun with you, John, and that isn’t just because you showed me tasteful nude photos of your wife, Emily Blunt, and your former costars, Jenna Fischer and Rashida Jones. To be fair, you didn’t “show” me them as much as I simply stole your phone and locked myself in the bathroom with it, but let’s not get caught up in the details of the thing. Point is you’re a regular guy, John, and we work well together. When we played mini-golf, you didn’t let me win. Any other celebrity would’ve done it, because they would’ve seen how much it meant to me. I was throwing my putter and using some pretty indefensible language in front of children; the game clearly meant more to me than it did to you. I’m sure someone like Brad Pitt would have let me win, probably to “avoid a scene.” But you competed, and I respect that. However let the record show you only won because I let you, because you’re my favorite actor. Remember that.
You were really cool when we went to get ice cream after. You got Neapolitan, which is gross, but I had no right to call you a bitch. I would like to formally apologize, from one friend to another. At the time, I was understandably upset that you didn’t want to get matching ass tattoos with me, something that I truly believe would have made our best friend bond even stronger. What’s the point in having a best friend if you’re not going to get “BFF” written permanently on your skin? I digress, but rest assured that at some point, we’re going to get some best friend ink. I’ll drug you if I have to, John, but I don’t want it to come to that.
How’s the car treating you? I know you probably thought I overreacted when a few times when we were having our joy ride. If I did, it was only because I wanted to show off. I was nervous! I just want you to know I’m not proud of how many derogatory math jokes I made to that Asian man in the minivan, and I’ll admit the language I used in front of his children was questionable at best. In my defense, he could probably kick your ass at Sudoku. That guy was definitely good at math.
Also, I’m now comfortable saying that it was probably out of line to tell that cop to go “fuck his socks” when he pulled us over. Yes, I know he only pulled us over because I flipped him the bird, and yes, he didn’t respond well when I told him you were “John Fuckin’ Krasinski.” I’m genuinely sorry he took us both into custody. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but you know what? We had fun. Everybody makes mistakes, John, and now you’ve got a (best) friend who’s man enough to admit when he makes them.
Your BFF Forevs
P.S. Apparently the authorities are under the impression that you never want to see me again, and that you’ve filed for a restraining order. I feel like there may be some sort of misunderstanding; I only threatened your wife and newborn child because you were showing signs of backing out of our BFF friend date! I never meant them any real harm. And I know I told you I had a “gun,” but that was just joshing around between two best buds! Years from now, we’ll look back at this whoopsie-daisy moment and laugh.