Editor’s note: This article is a humor column.
I’m sure you’re very happy to learn that I safely escaped my suitors and reached my secret apartment, or as my fans call it, the s-apartment. I was able to buy it with the money I made from being an astronaut for Secret NASA, better known as S-NASA. I would say more but I fear I’ve already shared too much.
Since writing about my run-in with Madelyn Cline back in late August, I’ve received a horde of letters. Most of them were just love letters from supermodels, but some of them alleged that my unpleasant interaction with an A-lister was just a one-off and that I was a real phony. All those claims can be easily rejected by recounting the story of one night.
It was the fourth of July…
4:27 p.m.
My not-as-cool friend Stephen — only a 6-foot-5-inch, single-millionaire, Virginia Tech student — asked if I’d like to attend Bon Jovi’s Fourth of July party. At the time, he was dating Bon Jovi’s niece, and he was wondering if I’d go with him. I usually don’t go to parties unless a president is there, but I respected his game, and so I said that I’d let him know.
7:17 p.m.
Millie — Mrs. Bobby Brown and I are on a first-name basis — texted me to ask if I was coming. I found it really timely as I was five months back on her Insta, but a little odd since she’s a married woman. Whatever, it wasn’t that weird. After all, Serena Williams, Meghan Markle and Melania Trump had also texted me the same thing that week. At least she didn’t send me anything explicit without my consent — have some self-respect, Ms. Rowling.
Making sure to maintain my nonchalant aura, I merely liked her message. I can’t even begin to imagine how much she must have been gushing over that. To make her poor lonely day even better, I decided to show up to her party. My meet and greet got shut down due to rioting — big surprise — so I had some time to spend on charity. I let Stephen know that I’d be coming. I stowed a nano jetpack in my back pocket in case of an emergency. This wouldn’t have been the first time an A-lister tried to trap me.
I also tucked my autograph pen into a pocket. Can’t leave the house without it.
9:03 p.m.
Stephen picked me up and we drove to the party. I would have flown us in the invisible helicopter, but I couldn’t find it.
9:49 p.m.
The party officially arrived. We were supposed to be there at 8, but we had to fight off my fans on the way. Stephen dropped me off at the front as he went to find parking — I usually just get my chauffeur to park, but whatever — and I braved the swarm of women by myself.
As soon as the door opened, all eyes were on me. I could tell they all wanted a piece of the Ghersi pie, and so I uncapped my pen and got ready to sign autographs. It was exhausting.
10:58 p.m.
After an hour of signing my name on the shirts, posters and body parts of my fans, I was finally done. My last autographed fan was Millie’s wheelchair-bound and napping grandma. Just by the vibes, I could tell she wanted my signature all over her forehead, and so I helped her out. I’m very good with social cues. To show my humility, I decided to roll her over to Millie.
When Millie saw me wheel her grandma over, her jaw immediately dropped. It’s a natural reaction to my stunningly good looks. When she asked if I did this, I responded that God also played a role in it. It’s hard to believe my good looks aren’t divinely granted.
11:12 p.m.
Distracted by the now-awoken grandma grabbing at her sharpied face, I accidentally let it slip to Millie that I was part of S-NASA. Now knowing that I’d visited the s-moon — the secret moon with lizard people — she became even more enamored with me than normal. While playing with the waistband of her pants, she asked if I could give her a physical demonstration of my s-astronaut abilities.
I managed to catch a peak of some lacy black material beneath her clothing. This was a clear sign that she was brandishing a firearm. So, fearing for my life, I complied with her orders. We slinked away from the party crowd and went up to her bedroom.
11:13 p.m.
As we entered her bedroom, she immediately headed for the bed. I assumed we’d be testing the bounciness of her springs, but to my shock, she began talking about the bedding’s linen quality. That is a clear sign that she would’ve liked us to use the sheets — to engage in coitus! As she was going on about the thread, I was on the lookout for her firearm, prepared to grab her gun the second she left it unattended.
However, that moment never came, as it was my weapon that was soon to be unsheathed. The nano jetpack in my back pocket suddenly booted up, launching me around the bedroom. In all the chaos of flying around, I hit her square in the stomach, violently tossing her to the floor. While she scraped along the carpet, I burst through the ceiling.
Though I managed to leave largely unscathed and unsullied, the same can’t be said for Millie. When her husband found her, he saw that Mr. Handsome had given Millie rug burns and broken her back. Word of Mr. Handsome’s doing spread quickly.
As you can imagine, after that, my reputation preceded me. I have even wondered if my fateful run-in with Madelyn was as unexpected as she led me to believe. I’ve only had the courage to tell that story three times, and I appreciate your patience. I wish you the best till I write again.
Your charismatic friend,
Sebastian “Mr. Handsome” Ghersi
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