If Love Were Cows' Blood, I'd Be a Slaughterhouse

Dear Stephen T. Colbert of the Colbert Report,

I love you. Please marry me. I know you're technically already married, and may or may not have three tiny adorable children, and that you're a Catholic and I'm a heathen and so the church would never allow us to wed, but, whatever. My love knows no bounds.

Tomorrow, you will ride into my fair city on the back of your gilded eagle, and I will be at work, because I have to go to work. But, the day after that, I will NOT be at work, because I'm taking a vacation day, and then I shall go to you, where you are filming at that park near Science World - assuming the line's not too long, and that I don't sleep in, which could be an issue.

Perhaps you shall look across the sea of eager hipsters and spot me and declare, "that girl, the really short, funny looking one, I must have her!" and then we will ride off into the sunset and live a life of ironic fantasy. Or, perhaps, you will never distinguish me from the crowd, but still put on a damned good show for free, and I will brag to all my friends that you were within spitting distance of me, and now I can die happy.

So, I just wanted to say, in advance: thank you. Because no one in the Canadian press is ballsy enough to say, "Oh my God! Stephen Colbert knows where Canada is! And he's talking about us, and then coming to Vancouver! Eeeeee!" But we both know, that's exactly what they're thinking. And frankly, so am I. Eeeee!

FYI, I am totally not a stalker, but if I were to stalk you, I would be a nice stalker - I would bake you muffins.