Scott Is Tight

Your inquiry of my enticing looks arrived just a few days ago. I want to thank you for the great confidence you have placed in me. That is all my tightness can do. I cannot discuss your UN-tightness; for any attempt at discussing something inferior would be heartbreaking and disheartening to me. The general population is never so beautiful as people would have us believe; most people can never match 1/infinity of my sexiness as they live in a world that is completely separated from my heavenly beauty.

Your kind letter, which managed to make clear to me my various seductive physical traits, though I will not state them so explicitly. You ask whether I am tight. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You compare me with Adonis, and you are upset when I clearly surpass him. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing – as we both know it is a waste of time. You are looking at your faces, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you – no one, not even the Flying Spaghetti Monster. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that puts you at the bottom of the attractiveness strata; see whether it has knocked some sense into you; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to look good. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: how can I be as flamingly sexy as Scott The Tight?

I thank you once more for your sincere trust and earnest inquiry, of which, by answering as honestly as I can, I have tried to make myself a little worthier than I, the very definition of tightness, really am.

P.S. Children of the Lesser-Tight People of Society, if you do happen to see me on the street, don't forget to tug your mommies' sagging love handles and yell on top of your lungs, " THAT MAN WITH THE COMB OVER IS MAD TIGHT!"

Yours very truly,

Scott The Tight