A Letter to Val Kilmer

My brother bought The Dark Knight last night for $25. I saw it in the theatre for $1. Why does he even bother getting up in the morning?

Val Kilmer
P.O. Box 362
Tesuque, NM 87574

Dear Mr. Kilmer,

Hey, Iceman! How's it going? I'm good, good, just hanging out drinking a Bud, watching some HGTV. You ever watch Property Ladder? Man, do those people even know what a budget is? Hello! Anybody home, McFly? You know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing you is to talk some ice, Iceman. My lady friend and I went out for dinner and movie last night, since it was half-off at the dollar theater and they're playing The Dark Knight. We stop by my favorite pizza place on the way to grab a slice, and I get myself a Cherry Coke. It was good, the pizza had kind of a fishy taste to it, but that was ok. The bee's knees, though, was that Cherry Coke. It had the best kind of ice in it! I had to tell somebody, and I figured if anybody would have the time to read a letter, it would be you.

So this is the kind of ice where it's sort of crushed, but not really. It's like a bunch of little balls of ice, kind of like hail. You know what I mean? It had a lower density than regular ice, too. It was really easy to bite, almost airy, like little cheese puffs. I'm sure you already know the kind of ice I'm talking about, but I'll go on. You very rarely find it, this ice. Perhaps at a county fair corn dog booth, or at the Orange Julius in the poor mall on the south side of town. When you do, though, it turns any ho-drum meal into an extraordinary memory.

Why doesn't everyone use this kind of ice, Val? I thought of writing to McDonald's, but they're not going to listen to me. We need a celebrity behind this, a spokesman. I need you, Mr. Kilmer. Every ice-cold beverage in the country needs you. Won't you be our huckleberry?

Ok, that's all I got. Hey, is Elizabeth Shue nice in person? She seems like she'd be nice in person. If you want to give her my address you can.

Ready to go,

The Correspondent