A love letter to Gregory House, MD

March 16, 2010 at 6:52 pm (I Propose to Fictional Characters) (, )

Dear House,

Please marry me.

Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. This is a marriage of convenience, not anything like love or passion or unplanned pregnancy.

Although, truth be told, I do love you. Let's be supercriminals together.

What makes it convenient, you ask? (I’m glad you asked that, Gregory House, MD. Can I call you House? I would feel uncomfortable calling you Greg, ’cause even your best TV friend doesn’t call you Greg.)

What makes it convenient, you ask, House? Well, here’s the thing.

I’m not a great person. I mean, sure, I’m charming, witty, beautiful, a great singer. But I’m a bit of a jerk. I mean, have you seen the things I’ve said about Matt Damon? I’m sure, that if he cared about my opinion whatsoever, his feelings would be totally hurt. (On a related note, Vince Vaughn is still a big fat gross slob and get the hell off the movie screens already.) I’m not that pleasant to be around, House, and people know that.

But — and this is the reason for my proposal here — in comparison to you, I am Mother Frakkin’ Teresa. (Does it kind of dull my point if I insert frakkin’ in between Mother and Teresa? Also, is she a saint yet? Should I have said Saint Frakkin’ Teresa? Is it spelled Theresa? Crap!) I think that if we were to wed, I would look like a bed of roses. I would be a shiny polished brand new car and you, House, would be the clunker that spits black smoke in your face. I would look that good. (Figuratively speaking. Literally speaking, I think you’re really, really hot, and we would look so great together it’s not even funny. Unless laughing at attractive couples is your thing, and I don’t know if it is.)

Really, really, REALLY hot.

People would be all like, “Man, that Lokifire is such a bitch,” and other people would be like, “Yeah, but have you met her husband? Sure, he’s a genius doctor and all, but he’s a bit of an ass.” And then they would meet you and boom! I look ever so much better.

Now if you’re wondering what I would bring to this relationship, as it seems I’m reaping all the benefits here with the hot husband who is a jerk so I seem nice in comparison, this is what I bring to the table, House (whom I just can’t get comfortable calling Greg): No interest whatsoever in discussing feelings (yours or mine, House, because, ech, feelings) or not making fun of stupid people, because, Gods, House, what good is living if you can’t make fun of morons? And if that’s not enough to sway you, I promise I will totally not judge your Vicodin addiction and, indeed, might even contribute to your problem. (I’m aware you don’t have a painkiller addiction this season, House, and to that I say: I stopped watching your show several episodes after it became apparent that Olivia Wilde was not going anywhere.)

Hell, House, if you want to hop into a bathtub full of Vicodin, I will fill it up for you.

Anyway, please consider my offer.

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1 Comment

  1. House Is Not A Home said,

    Just came across this and Absolutely Loved It. Very funny and I could relate on so many levels.

    Still keeping up my House!

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