Dear Brad Pitt,
by Don Hogle
I know you don’t know me, I mean, there’s no reason you ought to know me. But I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and that in the seventh grade, I stole a Slim Jim from a 7-Eleven after school.
I imagine right now you’re saying to yourself, Why is this whackadoo writing to tell me about a Slim Jim he stole from a 7-Eleven in the 7th grade?
I assure you I’m not a whackadoo. It’s just that I have this friend I visit frequently who has a weekend house in Pennsylvania. And when we have guests over for brunch, we often make a dish called Brad Pitt’s Mother’s Sausage Casserole.
Somebody found it in a magazine. You tear bread into little pieces and put it in a casserole dish with sausage and cheese and beaten eggs, and you let it sit in the refrigerator overnight. In the morning you bake it. It’s a big hit with all our guests, not only because it’s delicious, but also because of its association with you. I should mention we tend to refer to it as Brad Pitt’s Sausage Casserole, ignoring your Mother’s role in the recipe completely.
I suppose I don’t have to tell you that my friends and I are all queer as ducks in mittens.
A Slim Jim, by the way, is a type of sausage, just thinner and more dried out.