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Dear Audition,

I don’t feel particularly inclined to shoot this your way, but you came recommended pretty highly from a friend for whom I have the utmost respect. Nevertheless, it pains me to say that my feelings toward you were such that our time together had to be spread over two dates, which doesn’t bode well for any sort of future relationship.

I mean, initially you weren’t all that distasteful – though I did find my attention wandering a few times. Our interaction was innocuous enough, but also absolutely nowhere in the same zip code as interesting or compelling. I mean, sure, perhaps in Japan something so pedantic as an audition to find a wife could occur, but that’s only the beginning of our little foray into unlikelihood and improbability. Ironically, mixed into this la-la land of yours are trite story points that made me excuse myself to just walk away from the first session.

When I did see you again, we picked up from before with some more of the same, but now began the warning bells that something bad was brewing from the get go. Did you think that your banal platitudes while flashing your dead, glassy doll eyes at dinner were going to woo me? What about when your characters did that weekend at the coast and you got naked and preceded to use all the sexual lure of a gas chamber participant to get me in bed and with red flags flashing and creepy scars showing. Did you think that would just be easily reconciled?

You know when your dead wife comes to you in your dreams to warn you off, you must either proceed with great caution or be under the command of your own idiocy. At this point I was reminded of Richard Pryor talking about what would happen if a bro were there! Well he would have told your psycho ass ‘adios,’ kicked you to the curb and been done with it.

But no, the man in the story has to be lured by the young pretty girl with no wiles, dead eyes and creepy oozing out of her pores. When I wasn’t drawn in you figured you could beat me over the head with ‘horror’ and slipped into a convoluted shockfest of patch work gruesome deeds and introduction to your last few victims. At this point it just gets gross for no other purpose but to get gross. Okay, you’re killers is a victim. Okay she’s a psycho (eyeroll) and has more issues than Kellogg’s has corn flakes. But that doesn’t mean I am going to care about her exploits. Additionally, the schmuck deserved what he got for even messing with her and ignoring the multitude of red flags! Oh and she’s just so badass that his son, when encountering her, swiftly pushes her down a flight of stairs to break her neck. Menace handled, horror averted and crisis ended.

Even though I will concede you were a messed up chick, you still wouldn’t make a good pimple on the butt of a Glenn Close or Sharon Stone when it comes to scary female sexuality. It’s a good thing you never brought your act to America, someone would have seen through your flimsy act and snapped you in two. I would say all the best, but really wouldn’t mean it and so good riddance and don’t ya come back now, ya hear!

Distastefully,

Rick Sandlas

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