It's me, your friend Gary Busey.

Hello, friend. I know it's been a long while since we've last had a chance to really sit down and catch up. I've been a very busy man. So, how are things with you? What do you mean I'm scaring you, it's me, Busey. Remember our trip to Costa Rica when you were attacked by a rebel militia during a nature hike and I had to use my strength and strong will to beat all of them off on you, er, of you? You don't? That's not surprising, it was very traumatic for you I'm sure. You really don't remember me? What about last year on spring break? Come on! The gaysian tranny?! What about the gopher with the eye patch and all the peanut oil? Still nothing? I don't want this to turn ugly but I almost feel like you're just messing with me now. Ok, ok, I've got it. Picture this. You, me, Chris Walken, and Sammy Davis Jr. back in '74 at the Boston Garden watching the Celtics when Walken shit his pants because you kept making him laugh with that Nicholson impression you do. What? You weren't even born yet? Shut the fuck up, now I know you're fucking with me. Is this some practical joke? Come on, where's Ashton. They cancelled that show? Why are you being such a dick? I still love you, you son of a bitch! Wait! Where are you going!? Go ahead! Walk away butthole! I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID I LOVE YOU!