From Boston Magazine

John Henry’s Courtship Email To His Future Wife

Dear Linda,

A man needs a muse. Well, he doesn’t really. He doesn’t need nearly as much as he generally thinks he does. A man is greedy. Greedy for what he doesn’t think he has and what he thinks he wants. We probably wouldn’t have wandered far beyond the basic necessities without that pushing us. Progress is one of its most important byproducts.

So you will ask, “Why are you writing this?” Because a brief encounter-and-a-half with you gave a cool spin to this little blue planet from my vantage point.

We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened. The sun emerged and created a giant rainbow between the city and the park. We were transfixed. You only saw it if you were in the right place. I was in the right place when I noticed you.

I barely know you. I don’t have any illusions about capturing your heart. But the world is brighter, better, lighter and warmer when a man imbues a woman he knows—even tabula rasa—with the attributes I believe reside in you. It’s the small things that ultimately matter. The subtle things. I am honest. I don’t play games. And I see no reason not to say that I’ve been smitten by you and you’ve done me a great service.

You’ve very innocently made my world brighter, better, lighter and warmer. So thanks. No response is necessary because a man doesn’t need nearly as much as he thinks he does.

 

I’ve read alot of articles since starting the Stool, but none of them were as fascinating, bizarre, surreal to me as this one regarding John Henry’s courtship of his fiancee written from her best friends perspective.  There were so many unbelievable quotes in it I don’t even know where to begin.  Basically Boston Magazine spends upwards of 7 pages trying to make it seem like John Henry is a cool guy. That he actually had friends before he met his future wife. That he was part of some modern day rat pack consisting of Tom Werner and Ed Kane (owner of Waterworks and manager of Estate and Shrine)  They even called themselves the Cirque du Rire or Circle of Laughs. They make it seem like John Henry somehow won this broad over by being romantic, funny, good looking and everything else that normal guys have to do to get chicks. That it’s not that unusual for 80 year old creepy dudes to marry 20 year old broads. That his new bride wasn’t remotely interested in the fact he was a bizillionare. It was surreal. Listen I ain’t mad at John Henry for bagging a young hot wife. If I wiped my ass with money and owned the Red Sox I’d do the same thing. But I just wouldn’t go on the front page of Boston Magazine and act like I’m some modern day Don Juan or something.  Because I hate to break it to John Henry, but he could have saved himself a whole lot of time and energy by just writing the following letter instead of the aforementioned one and he would have been in the same exact place he is now;

Hey Bitch,

I’m a bizzilionare.

Sincerely,

Dr. Creepo….