Kyle Chandler, Connie Britton & Taylor Kitsch: Friday Night Lights (again)

Are you watching Friday Night Lights yet? I have forced 7 friends to start watching Friday Night Lights – all but one are in love and in obsessive watching mode. They are also making sure to make their viewing count, which is critical to the longevity of the brilliant and amazing Friday Night Lights. You too must do the same, please.

Dear Coach Eric Taylor –

Hi. How are you?
I like you very much.
Who is this doppelganger pretending to be you, neither from Texas nor in angry man shorts, angry sunglasses nor angry headset?
What the hokey pokey hell, Coach?
My state of reality is highly fragile and I become discombobulated much faster than most.
I am deeply troubled and I need you, Coach Eric Taylor, to point your right finger at me, whilst your left hand sits atop the angry belt of your angry man shorts and you state “nominate a teacher now, son. It’s what men do. It’s the right thing to do, son.” (For the record, Coach Eric Taylor: I don’t have a peen, and so am a girl, but will allow you to call me son.)
Can you please record a new public service announcement for me?

Further, I would greatly appreciate if you were to wear your green t-shirt a little more often, thank you.

You are my angry hero in green, Coach Eric Taylor, and I am sincerely yours,

Dear Connie Britton / Tammy Taylor –

Hi. How are you?
I like you as much as I like your angry and oftentimes confused husband, Coach Eric Taylor. Please understand I would never make a pass at your husband, no matter how angry and hot he is in his angry man shorts and angry headset. I wouldn’t do that to the sisterhood, Principal Taylor. (Principal Taylor? I might be a liar.)

I am writing this to you because I was wondering: Would you like to have a drink with me sometime?
In the future, I will probably have some boy problems that I will need to discuss with you because you are very clearly the world’s greatest listener of all time and I really like the way you communicate with your angry husband, Coach. I also wonder, do you ever call him ‘Coach’ when you are having adult private time?

By the way, my best friend and I are going to a combo of Morocco, Turkey and / or Cairo this coming Christmas and we were wondering if you’d like to join us?

I’ve used three variations of the word ‘wonder’ in my letter to you. It’s because I like that word and you make me shy and nervous with your fantastic breasts and large pretty brown eyes.
I wonder if I am now starting to creep you out?
Please don’t be scared of me if I show up at your backyard and try to fix your broken air conditioning unit. It’s because I like you very much.
(Also, I agreed with you about your dream home. I think you wanted to cry when Coach said no – I wanted to cry for you. I wonder, did you want to cry but the writers didn’t let you?)

Finally, I would like some pointers on how to do the same as you in the boobs department, please. (See what I just did there, Tammy? “Pointers”, like boobs? That made me giggle, too. I wonder if I can call you “Tammy”?).

I am yours in sisterly solidarity,

Dear Tim Rigging / Taylor Kitsch –

Hi. How are you?
I don’t squeal easily over boys, but I am squealing like a little school girl over you, my Rigglett.
I become seriously frazzled every time that your 17-year-old self shows up on my screen.

I am writing to you because I would like you to please stop screaming on my screen. Unfortunately, every time you do scream, my Rigglett, I hurt my hand in my small effort to place a lozenge in your mouth. And honestly, a lozenge is all I would ever try to place in your mouth. (Tim Riggins? I might be a liar.)

I am also sending you this letter because I would like to know which name brand and colour of blush you use, please. If you can spare a further moment, I would also like to know what stain of lipstick you use. On. Your. Mouth.

Your. Mouth.
You have the greatest mouth in the history of mouths and if ever I meet you, my Rigglett, I will try to poke your mouth in an effort to see if it is, as it appears to be, very cushiony to the touch.

I’m pretty sure my vision just blurred a little, Rigglett.

I am yours with the sincerest of sentiments: I would very much like to touch your hair if only to shampoo it,
P.S. Do you like bubblegum? I do, very much. I thought you should know. Bazooka is my favourite. Bye.