ROWE - Very, very dirty, but not dirty enough.

Dear Mike Rowe,

Hello. My name is Erin O'Brien and I want to fuck your brains out.

I am fairly certain you get this type of correspondence on a regular basis, but believe me, this time it's different. For starters, I'm not some inexperienced 99-pound 20-year-old blond chick with perky tits and a tube of frosted lipstick. No sir. I am a woman of a certain age and know my way around the landscape of the male body.

As for my own landscape, I've got things to offer you, baby. I am voluptuous, sport at least one personal embellishment (a tattoo I just know you're going to love), and I can hula-hoop for 60 consecutive minutes. You likey?

Not only do I find you completely edible on a physical basis, baby, I love your way. I love you when you're shoveling shit and boiling skulls and getting your ass kicked by an ostrich.

I really want to see your dick.

That said, a few things have come up that we need to discuss before sealing the deal. Not that I'm the sort of obsessive- compulsive person who spends hours in front of her computer reading every one of your interviews again and again and downloading photos of you and then enlarging them and staring at them with the lipid eyes of a 12-year-old beholding her first Tiger Beat fold-out poster while masturbating. But I have done my homework. I'm a mature woman who is sensitive to the complex web of emotion and circumstance and need that shapes our lives. I understand.

I read that you "pursue a life of serial monogamy with a very understanding woman."

Fuck that shit, baby. Come on over and get you some sugar. Don't worry about her. She's a big girl. While you and I screw each other silly, she can go have fun for her money and save at Marc's or chillax with a nice can of merlot and a slice of Velveeta, or maybe watch a tape of you raking duck shit with my own Dearly Beloved. You'll take a shower when we're all done and I'll get you back to her in the same condition I found you. Well, almost the same condition.

Good. That whole faithful thing is behind us. Now then, issue number 2. Some person on a chat with the handle "Shrieker" (who is probably a morbidly obese man with a skin condition that has him covered in oozing lesions and is no way a 115-pound, 30-year-old woman who is capable of multiple orgasms that are so intense she shrieks loud enough to be heard a half mile away) asked you the following question: "Have you ever gotten infections from any of the jobs you had to do?" Your response, Rowe, quite frankly, has got me a bit worried:

"There have been several wounds that have been slow to heal," you said, "but at the moment everything seems to be working properly, for the most part — with some exceptions that we don't need to discuss here."

Some exceptions? And why don't you want to talk about these exceptions? Rowe, please tell me you are not referring to a big old case of cheese dick. Please don't tell me you spend an inordinate amount of time lying on your back with a twisted sheet bunched around your torso as you stare at the ceiling teary-eyed, one hand behind your head quietly explaining your "little problem" that "hardly ever happens" unless the "issues" with your "mother" come up to some poor broad who ends up having to flick her own bean after finding out the Great Mike Rowe is incapable of performing the one dirty job that really counts. If that's the case, Rowe, I just don't know what. Maybe I'll go lez.

Furthermore, you didn't say anything about infections, which is what that skanky little broad asked about in the first place. You weren't avoiding the issue, were you? You don't have some nasty secret we need to talk about, do you, Rowe?

In order to put these last two items to bed, I'm going to need to speak to one or two of the ladies in your past. Maybe the chick you're so worried about cheating on. So send her number along. Also, please forward a notarized report from a urologist assuring me your dirty member is squeaky clean. Okay, baby?

As far as coital positions, choice of personal lubricant, marital aid-type accessories and suspension devices, these are things we can handle on an as-needed basis. We don't want our special times together to be too scripted.

Lastly, there is the obvious. You love avian vomitoligists, garbage-pit technicians and hot-tar roofers. I'm just a writer, baby. If that isn't dirty enough for you, how about I skip the shower for a few days? Or go a couple of months without washing the sheets? Better yet, I've got these words and I can make them as dirty as you please.

eobnow@yahoo.com € www.erinobrien.us