Dear Tim Allen,
Will you please come stay with me? I live in Toronto, Canada.
I am not gay. However, I am smitten with your rugged masculinity and folksy charm. It is this that has made me your lifelong fan, Tim Allen. As a young boy, I wished you could be my Uncle Tim – someone who could visit every once in a while and challenge me to a spirited wrestling match on the shag carpeting of my rec room. Then perhaps, you would administer the wettest willy of them all. I always imagined it would feel like a damp dew worm working its way into my brain. I hope I won’t have to imagine anymore.
I saw you in the box office hit Christmas at the Kranks. I now believe it to be the best movie of all time. My favourite part was when you were trying to set up a Frosty on your roof, but oh no, you slipped! And so you were falling and slipping and going, “Waugh-augh-augh-augh!” It puts me in stitches just thinking about it. I was so glad that director Joe Roth allowed you to show off your true comedic versatility. I mean, who else in the business can fall off of a roof so many times and manage to keep it fresh? Every time you tumble to the lawn below, somehow avoiding paralysis, it feels like the first time.
If you came to live with me for a while, I figure we could start by playing some football in my backyard. You know – toss the ol’ pigskin around. While we were hucking each other spiral passes, you could tell me what it was like to work on the classic sitcom “Home Improvement” and spin some yarns about working with Zachery Ty Bryan. Then, when we got kind of tired, we could head inside, watch football on the TV and drink pop. Do you like pop?
Tim, sometimes my friends like to make fun of you. They call you “The Fool Man”, likely a reference to your defining character Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor. That really bothers me, but I try not to let it because I know when you come to meet me, you’ll frame my problems from a simple, blue-collar perspective that it’ll all make sense again. You really speak to me. Even when you’re talking about hot rods or drills or something, I feel like you’re talking right to me.
After we’re done watching the football game, I was thinking we could go out for a drive in a car. This is where more male bonding would happen. Maybe you could teach me how to pick up girls. I’m always nervous around them, but I’m sure you have more than a few nuggets of hilarious, homespun wisdom that will help my predicament. I would also appreciate it if you punctuated all of your statements with a trademark “Arr-arr-arr”. Well, I can’t do it as good as you, but you know.
So, please come and be my Uncle.
Love,
Dave Hodgson
