Dearest Sharlto,
Where should I begin? I suppose with, I'm sorry.
I've taken your accomplishments and reduced them to cheap jokes and simple laughs. Why? Because I'm a sad little troll searching for approval.
I was the kid eating paste in school (Elmer's is the best by the way, almost a fruity bouquet). I was the one who's only friend was a stuffed animal with a penchant for setting things on fire (it WAS Mr Binklesworth, I swear it!). I was the kid eating his fish sticks and paste alone while the other children threw their milk cartons at him.
So flash forward several decades, and not much has changed. I mean sure, I had a good job, lots of friends, a beautiful wife and two amazing children, but on the inside, I was the same paste eating fire starter I was as a child. Then I saw District 9, an amazing film, and everything changed. Incredibly crafted, unique pacing, and your performance was ridiculously good. You quickly became one of my favorite actors working. How did I repay your hard work that brought me hours of enjoyment? Pathetic tall jokes.
Unfortunately, it worked. The cool kids all thought those posts were funny. They clapped and laughed, and I danced for them. I danced the dance of the fool, of a sad portly monkey pigman looking for easy laughs. Twirling and spinning, all the while feeling my soul being crushed by my own selfishness.
After each 'funny' Sharlto post I would retire into my room, and flog myself while watching one of your films. My back at this point looks a shredded mess of meaty beef jerky dipped in ketchup.
I couldn't stop, despite the pain, despite the horrors of losing my soul, despite the desire to only wish for your approval; but it all comes to an end now.
So, this this post leads to where it started, I'm sorry.
Dug
PS here's a little movie I made during a few lunches. You know, to lighten up the post a little. Shit got dark!
