Hi Barbara. Listen, just for the record, I don't care if you don't find me one of the most fascinating people of 2006. I don't. I mean, it's not like I go around thinking, "Should I buy this exotic-looking fruit thing? Will Barbara be fascinated by me if I do?" No, it's not like that all. I bought that exotic-looking fruit thing because I wanted to. Also because I accidentally dropped it on the floor and the produce man wouldn't let me leave the store without buying it.

So don't sweat it Barbara. And tomorrow, when I fly to Africa to adopt some African orphan and then come back to train for the US Open and start developing plans to open up an evangelical church that will inspire millions, please don't take that as a sign that I desperately want you to find me most fascinating. No, I was going to do all that stuff anyway. I think I might marry Beyoncé, too. Or that dead crocodile guy's wife. I haven't made up my mind yet. I'm very busy. But rest assured when I do decide which one I'll marry and, along with our adopted African children Patrick and Nancy, edit Vogue with, it won't be in an effort to fascinate you.

Honest. No lie.

Oh, and one more thing: I HATE YOUR STUPID GUTS.

This post is dedicated Hammer Time.