Dear Tina Fey
In your book (which is wonderful, by the way), towards the end (SPOILER ALERT), you mention a theory:
I have a suspicion—and hear me out, ’cause this is a rough one—I have a suspicion that the definition of “crazy” in show business is a woman who keeps talking even after no one wants to fuck her anymore. … This is the infuriating thing that dawns on you one day: Even if you would never sleep with or even flirt with anyone to get ahead, you are being sexually adjudicated by these LA creeps. Network executives really do say things like “I don’t know. I don’t want to fuck anybody on this show.” … (To any exec who has ever said that about me, I would hope you would at least have the intelligence and self-awareness to know that the feeling is extremely mutual.)
There is also a point in your book where you address some ass-hats on the Internet who’ve written you ill-guided, semi-illiterate missives. So in the hope of becoming one of those ass-hats, I just wanted to say:
Every smart, funny, attractive boy I know between the ages of 18 and 60 wants to fuck you. Literally every boy.
I just thought you should know.
Good luck with all your future endeavours, and thank you for being super-great.
A girl who sort of wants to be you
(kinda. a little. totally.)