Dear Tom Cruise

I had a dream about you last night.

I don’t understand why, but this isn’t the first dream I’ve had about you either. Why can’t I dream about someone who isn’t gay and is actually hot like Orlando Bloom? Dang, I’d even settle for The Rock. The reason I request that I don’t have dreams about celebrities who are gay (or at all, I really shouldn’t be dreaming about fucking celebrities) is because these dreams are almost always naughty. And the feeling you get when you wake up and realise that you made out with a famous closet homosexual is just not something I enjoy first thing in the morning. I need a cup of tea first, at least.

I don’t quite remember everything in this dream, but I do remember that you were very amorous. Okay, I’ll admit, you were kind of hot in my dream, but don’t worry, this girl isn’t attracted to you normally (please God, please God). I remember some fooling around (I think dry-humping, I’m pretty sure we were both clothed) and you being all amused and excited by answering people’s telephones and saying:

“GUESS WHO THIS IS?! IT’S TOOOOOM CRUISE!”

I must have seen something about you on the red carpet doing that, and by saying the first half of this sentence thus confirms that indeed I have.

Anyway, then the house we were in turned into the set of a play, and you turned into a black beagle (what the fuck) and sat on the stage in between some fake stage trees. I was standing next to some sort of director who was raving on about how great it would be to have this black beagle on stage and to give it a part and how this would be reminiscent of such-and-such an era. Then I woke up.

Now, I get to go through my morning feeling slightly dirty about copping a feel with you. However, I will never forget the look on your face when you say your name.

“TOOOOOM CRUISE!”

Love,
The Editor