My Dearest Edith,
It’s been so frightfully long since last I wrote. I am ashamed to say it may not have been since last winter, before your Sunday evening updates ceased so suddenly. But after this week’s events and the sudden passing of Sybil, I felt the need write again. It has been ever so nice to have you back in my life back this last month, to be able to see your shining face, your lovely flaxen curls, and of course, your completely sensational rear end. It is like a breath of fresh air, or a particularly brisk walk through a thorny bush. I do wonder why you never responded to my letters of last year? Perhaps because you were busy returning Downton to its normal state after the war, or helping Mary, your insufferable trollop of a sister, prepare for her nuptials with Matthew. Or could it be because you are a character on a television show, and I am but a normal man living in the world 100 years after you would’ve existed? I suppose I’ll never know, but it is lovely to have you back, Edith Crawley. Sweet, sweet Edith. So reliable, so keen, so overflowing with unquenched sexual desire.
You see, Lady Edith, I know this may be poor timing, but I can stay silent no longer. I have developed for you what is known in modern times as a TV Boner. TV, or television, is a wonderful light box that we surround and use to admire our favorite entertainment programs. It’s like going to the theater, except you’re able to do it in your own home, without pants on. Television is where we first met. Actually, it was on Netflix, but I fear explaining that might make your face explode, so I will refrain. A boner, on the other hand, is far easier to comprehend. You know that feeling you get after eating one of Mrs. Padmore’s sweet apple puddings? It is like that, except in your under regions. I would say more, but I don’t wish to make you blush. Should it still remain unclear, perhaps you can ask your wench of a sister Mary, I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say on the topic. However, plainly stated, a TV Boner means I like you very much.
It is because of this that while I was saddened to hear of your broken engagement to Sir Anthony Strallan, I was heartened as well. Let us be honest, Edith: Sir Anthony was never good enough for you. He looked like the Grim Reaper without the hood, and his only interests were driving a car and seeming like he was about to faint. Anthony was plainly not suitable. I mean, what if Downton had put in a tennis court? Good luck playing doubles with someone whose arm looks to be made of chicken bones and discarded candle wax. I dare not even imagine what he would’ve been like on your wedding night. “Yes, Lady Edith, I’d like to. But first can we talk a bit more about my dead wife?” No, this is all for the best, even if it seems quite trying now. I will be here for you Edith, as I always have been, and know many things that can comfort a lovely young woman like yourself. Oh goodness, I fear my TV Boner has returned.
Let me say, in closing, a few words about your sisters. You may have picked up a subtle disdain I have for the eldest, Lady Mary. But be not confused, as I found Lady Sybil Branson quite difficult as well. I do not wish to speak of her (may she rest in peace), but your sisters have treated you like an old maid, which is entirely deranged. You’re twice as fair as both of them combined. Plus you are wise, hard-working, and have the good sense not to sleep with foreign dignitaries out of wedlock. I will cease speaking badly of Sybil, but let me say that if Mary had any grace whatsoever, she’d admit you her superior, and ask how to mirror you more closely. Chiefly, how you got such banging little curves sitting around writing letters all day.
I am afraid now that I must go, as I must jog on my moving walkway, then set about trimming my cat’s toenails. (Don’t ask.) I am so sorry for your loss, and hope this letter cheers your spirit. I look very much forward to your response, if somehow you have found a way to exist and would like to get tea sometime.
Congratulations on your position at the paper, it is well deserved. Forever yours in love and admiration,
Brian Donovan of Los Angeles, California.