While Brad Pitt was shooting Fury in England and polluting the skies above Britain with musky clouds of foreskin butter and butt jelly fumes , St. Angie Jolie was all the way in Australia directing the Louis Zamperini biopic Unbroken. You’d think that if Brad Pitt wanted to communicate with St. Angie’s ass, he’d just go to the nearest church, put his hands together and ask her assistant God to patch her through. But St. Angie tells Australia’s TV Week Magazine (via E!) that her and Brad’s love is an old-fashioned, timeless kind of love and they didn’t talk through sext messages or Skype or emails. They’d write love letters to each other and they’d role play while doing so. Angie would dip her bony finger in an inkwell and scribble out a letter to Brad as though she was an old-timey actress in the Pacific theater and he was an old-timey actor in the European theater and they weren’t modern-day famous millionaires who could make a private jet appear just by saying “I want a private jet to appear.” St. Angie is telling us this, because she wants to remind us all that they’re Romeo and Juliet if Romeo was a greasy billy goat whose potent weed farts could get a hippo stoned and if Juliet was a vampire saint who stored the youth of babies in her forehead vein. Angie spit this out by her and Brad’s ~romantic~ letter writing:
“He was supportive from a distance and it was quite romantic in a way. We decided to be of that time when we could imagine he was in the European theatre and I was in the Pacific theater and we wrote hand-written letters to each other that were very connecting for us, thinking of the people that were separated for months if not years at a time back then.”
What’s surprising is that Brad’s letters from England got to St. Angie in Australia. Brad’s 100% THC sweat probably dripped all over that letter and it’s weird that a postal worker didn’t think that something in the envelope was the good shit when their dog’s nose exploded while sniffing it. Brad can easily send a weed-soaked letter in the mail and yet I get in trouble when I try to FedEx a bag of the good shit from California to whatever hotel I’m staying at in a different state (No, I have never done that, yet).
If for whatever reason, Brangie loses their zillions, they can always get it back and then some by selling those letters. Every Brangeloonie would do and sell anything to get their hands and other parts around those letters. A rolled-up letter handwritten by St. Angie would replace that W Magazine cover as the only paper dildo they need in their life.