George "Mythmaker" Lucas
Lucasfilm Ltd.
P.O. Box 2009
San Rafael, CA 94912

Dear Mr. Lucas,

Hi there! I read on the internet--yes, that vile dreaded medium for twisted obsessives out to destroy your vision--that you are casting the part of Anakin Skywalker in the next Star Wars film even as I type, and I wanted to get in my bid to play the part! You'll find my resume and headshot attached. (By the way, I took the liberty of interpreting the idea of "headshot" literally and sending along a fairly randy glimpse of my pole gettin' smoked by a most righteous babe in a Princess Leia steel bikini. Hope you like it.)

I know what you're thinking: who the fuck is this jabroni? Why should he get cast in one of the most eagerly-pursued roles in the history of Hollywood? In other words, what does Matt Springer got that DiCaprio ain't got?

To be blunt, I feel like I understand the role of Anakin better than some pretty boy teen heartthrob ever could. Maybe he thinks that shivering for a few months in a tub of water to make all the kiddies cry at Titanic is rough, but as far as I'm concerned, a life spent bonking supermodels and shooting up smack isn't what I'd call "full of hardships."

"I know what you're thinking: what does Matt Springer got that Leonardo DiCaprio ain't got?"

Me, I know what hardship is all about. In fact, I've often reflected on the striking similarities between my own life and that of young Anakin. I know very well the anguish of leaving my mother at a formative age and striking out on my own. Even if that "formative age" was eighteen, it still took me many months to recover from the shock. And I'm still deeply dependant on my own "Shmi"; she even does my laundry!

Like Anakin, my childhood was dominated by the sense that I would grow up to do great things, and by my uncanny displays of preternatural talents. It was detected at an early age that I was gifted with a magnificent Ed McMahon impersonation, for example, an asset which I capitalize on to this day. My dad still brags that I was able to read the newspaper at age four, though a tragic blimp accident on New Year's Day 1983 left me illiterate until quite recently. On top of all that, I know that if I concentrated really hard, I could levitate a pencil or something like those Jedis do in your movies. I just know it!

Not only do I understand Anakin, but I also understand you, Mr. Lucas, and the many burdens under which you suffer to produce your art. Like you, I have my own Rick McCallum-esque worshipful toadies who waddle around behind me and pronounce me "God" on a regular basis. I have a few too many chins and my hair looks pretty nasty, just like you. And I've never been grilled by Leslie Stahl about my love life, but I have been grilled by a few women about my more esoteric sex fetishes, so we're about even on that score too. (By the by, do you get off when a girl rubs a Chewie mask all over your genitals and howls as though the Wookiee himself were licking your crotch? Man, I do!)

Like you, I understand that greed, for lack of a better word, is good. All that merchandising--the action figures, the sleepwear, the books, the candy, the paper plates for kiddie birthday parties--is right up my alley. It's pure exploitation, which you have every right to indulge in with abandon. You built this vast multibillion dollar media empire with your own two hands; why the hell shouldn't you suck your fans dry for every last penny they have?

"Every weekend until May 2002 is free for me to jet to California and get fitted for my costumes."

And man oh man, do I know about the fans. Those lazy bottom-feeders who think they're "showing their love" for Star Wars when all they really wanna do is ruin your movies by blabbing secrets all over that devil Internet. I can see them now in their sweat-stained T-shirts, pizza oil dripping from their chins, pounding on the keyboard as though they're trying to kill it and hammering unfounded rumors into the delicate fabric of the Star Wars mythos. It's like McCallum said on that Star Wars: Behind the Magic CD-Rom; real fans don't want to figure out all the secrets in advance. They just sit there like good little slaves and suck up what they're given. That's what being a "consumer" means, goddamnit: CONSUMING!

More than anything else, Mr. Lucas, I understand what it means to be misunderstood. As co-editor of a major web entertainment magazine, I deal on a daily basis with the small-minded, the hangers-on, the perverted sex maniacs. I know what it's like to toil day in and day out in pursuit of a hazy vision, only to have that vision torn to shreds by fat-ass movie critics whose only real gift for film is salting their jumbo popcorn buckets so that the top kernels don't taste like the bottom of a urinal. I know exactly what that feels like, man--all too well.

As you can see from this letter, it's the deep identification I feel with both yourself and your latest film hero that will make me the best man for the job of bringing Anakin Skywalker to life. I'll leave the next step up to you--every weekend until May 2002 is free and easy for me to jet to California and get fitted for my costumes. I'd even be happy to pay my own airfare, though I'd expect a major moneybags such as yourself probably keeps enough cash for a plane ticket just lying around the office in the event he wants to wipe his ass or blow his nose. Yet if you're too cheap to pick up the tab, I'll happily pay my own way.

That should do it. Please call soon--I can't stand the suspense, and my "people" are eager to send out the press release so's I can hit the hip L.A. club scene as the flavor of the week and score me some Hollywood poon tang. Rest assured of one thing, Mr. Lucas: I'm ready, willing and able to lead hate straight into suffering and carry Episode Two to another $500 billion worldwide box office tally!

Sincerely,
Matt "Scourge of the Galaxy" Springer

P.S. When you call to offer me the role, could you also give me Natalie Portman's home phone number? She's a major hottie, and being as I'm the newest star in the Star Wars universe, I know she'll be dying to get in my pants. Thanks, bro!