Dear Ms. E.L. James,
I wish to express my most sincere disapprobation and sternest, dare I say, most strict lecture for ruining my private life. Although I have gained more than my fair share of attention for my mature sophistication among the ladies in the past, I have become overwhelmed since the publication of your very knotty trilogy on the darker arts of sensuality in your "Fifty Shades of Grey." Besides the common sounding name as a homonym it seems that I possess a certain physical likeness, gravitas and disposition to the eponymous protagonist in your novels like Roger Sterling in "Mad Men." Just the other day I had to visit Greenwich Hardware here in New England to replace a length of clothesline frayed over the winter. As I emerged from the store, I was accosted by nearly a half-dozen younger women on my way to my copter, Delta Foxtrot, in the parking lot. They all had the usual, pointed and demeaning questions: what are you doing with that length of rope, baby? Want to tie me up and then tie me down? How'd you like to try a bowline or two at my house for fun? Are you free for a coffee: as long as it's not plain vanilla? I'm not too tied up at the moment but I'd certainly like to be? Unspeakable contracts are waived in front of my face on a regular basis for signing with their Waterman pens. I can only answer them that I'm taking my length of rope off to a hanging: my own. It seems that I can't go anywhere now in Delta Foxtrot without the constant, stinging and smarting flagellation of such intrusion into my private life and while, at first, I must confess that I considered it rather novel, even flattering, and somewhat amusing, now it has become nothing more than a major irritation. I don't mean to sound too tightly wrapped, Ms. James, but I am NOT your whipping boy! (Yellow) How dare you intrude into my privacy and base your Christian so closely after my intimate, private life? How dare you, madam? (My wife has advised me never to refer to a woman as "madam" unless you meet her in a brothel that she happens to own.) But I get no rest. Night and day there are phone calls suggesting the most vile interplay from eager, willing and wanton women. I am utterly at loose ends! How shall I explain all this to my beautiful wife? By the way is it true that you're planning more "ouevres" in this literary genre? Thank you, Mistress, we'll have another? Well, I would like to suggest in Books 5, 6 and 7, which are bound to follow such rich royalties, that my namesake be knocked off in a plot twist similar to the last episode of "House." Tie my namesake up in knots in a McMansion and burn it to the ground. (Red) You're welcome. But back to the stern business at hand, if you do not accommodate this most reasonable literary gesture, then I shall be forced to contact my solicitors and seek restraint of trade. Please don't make me do it. A man can only take so much abuse without breaching hard limits, and give it, before he goes from the top of his form to the bottom of his game. I think you perceive the "double entendre" perfectly well. Have I made myself clear? As I would never, ever seek to be coy or beat about the bush, I'll wrap this up with a ribbon for you for now. Do as I command! BTW please accept my very best wishes and I wonder if you're free for an intimate, little lunch sometime next week to meet a close friend of mine. Please give my deepest respects and highest regards to Mr. James: shall we lift a glass of Graye Goose in his honor?