Dear Bachelorette Trista,

First off let me say you made the right decision; but you definitely made the wrong choice. What do I mean by that you ask? Well let me explain.

When you cut the first 24 guys, you were right on the money. They weren’t worth the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You were on the right track. You kept dumping them like sacks of used condoms, but then you had to screw it all up by picking that last guy Ryan.

You know Trista, we’ve never met or anything, but I think if we had, this show would have turned out much differently. You know, I’ve really got a lot more to offer you than that guy Ryan. Yeah sure he’s an attractive supormodel-esque firefighter, fine he’s sensitive and sweet and all those obnoxiously adorable things; but really I think you may be missing some key points.

First off, he’s an old and withered 27 years old. Basically, he’s got maybe two to three more years to live. I on the other hand, am an agile and youthful 20 years of age.

In addition, I think you need to take a second look at this man’s career. He is a govern-ment worker! How do you expect to raise a family on a government worker’s salary? Let me answer that for you. You can’t. I mean sure you might be able to get a three bedroom house with a lawn, but what about the glitz and the glamour it appears you have gotten so used to by now? Think about it Trista. You’re going to have to get a job. Yup, you’re going to be modeling bathing suits for Target, and when you’re too old for that, you’ll be a K-Mart foot model. Eventually you will be nothing more than a hack. A hack married to a hack of a heroic firefighter. It’s so sad.

Now look at me, an over-achieving college student. I’ve got potential; the world is an oyster for you and me to slowly slurp down. Other objects the world could be for us include a jungle gym (for us to play on), horse (for us to ride on), or even a popsicle (for you to suck on).

In addition to achieving an impressive GPA, I also play an array of instruments. These include guitar, drums, and piano. So while your beloved husband Ryan is writing cheesy and childish grade limericks, I could be writing you full songs. Shit, I could write you a full CD, and burn it myself with my computer skills. What can Ryan do for you? Write a terribly predictable 4 line poem then spray you down with a fire hose? Is this what your looking for?

Further, I have a great sense of humor. I mean it may not come out well in writing, but I shine for those “in-the-moment” times. Really what I’ve got is wit. It’s obvious Ryan is nothing more than a muscular bag of emptiness. Sure he can be sensitive and kind, but are those characteristics really important nowadays? No, I’m pretty sure about that one.

According to your profile, which I totally didn’t read (a friend told me this shit for real. He is such a loser. I totally don’t use the Internet. I feel it takes up precious time I could use for making love), you majored in Exercise Science and currently work at a Miami children’s hospital. Isn’t it funny, cause I totally go to the gym all the time. You know, I always saw my workout routine as a science. I do curls and push ups and stuff, we could talk about that. You know what, I totally don’t hate kids that much either. I mean I have two cousins who are seriously so young, and I sorta play with them sometimes. I play this one game, I call it the silence game. The kid who stays quiet the longest doesn’t get slapped. Lucky for me now they keep their little mouths shut most of time. Loveable little guys!

In conclusion, I think we have something too special to lose over this “dreamy” firefighting dude. Think about it, he will do nothing but spray cold and bitter water all over your burning heart. I on the other hand would log out the Redwood National Forest and throw it on your growing flame, spotted owls and all. Endangered Species won’t stand in the way of our love. You want an ivory toilet seat? I can make it happen. So Trista think about it and get back to me on my celly. Woop woop.