Dear Joe Bob,
When you were gallivanting around Dallas, cahooting with Wanda Bodine and Cherry Dilday, I hadn’t been born yet. During your run hosting Joe Bob’s Drive-In Theater on TMC, I was taking my first steps in some ill-fitting, saggy-bottom diapers that my momma bought for me down at the Food Lion. And when you hosted MonsterVision—one of the greatest shows ever seen on God’s green Earth—I was sneaking out late at night to do a little aardvarking of my own…if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
Now, I bet you’re asking yourself, “Why in the world is this bimbo, that I’ve never even heard of, writing me a letter? Who in their right mind writes letters anymore? And why in the hell are they posting it on the internet rather than sending it through the U.S. Postal Service, with a stamp of Elvis Presley slapped on it, like a blue-blooded American?”
Well, Joe Bob, I’m going to be honest; I think it’s time to share something that I’ve known about you for many years. It’s something that you and all the internet are finally ready to hear.
So, crack open a Lone Star, kick your alligator-skin boots up on top of a Coleman cooler, and brace yourself, Joe Bob, because you are a zaddy.
I imagine you’re settin’ there, slack-jawed, gettin’ ready to throw your beer at the computer screen while yellin’, “What in the world is a zaddy? Is that a zit that’s trying to spread its seed? That’s the dumbest word I’ve ever heard.”
And on that point, I would have to disagree, Joe Bob.
The term “zaddy” is a unique and necessary classification of the male species. By my count, there are six kinds of men in the world: baby boys, boys, regular men, regular dads, daddies, and zaddies. The two classifications of most importance in my humble, sex-focused opinion, however, are daddies and zaddies.
A daddy is what someone calls a man who is not their father when they want them to know that they’re the boss and in charge of the situation…if you know what I mean, and I’m sure you do.
But a zaddy, on the other hand, is an extra-special daddy. A zaddy is typically an older man with an egregious amount of style, swagger, and charm. They’re the type of man that makes a woman blurt out, “Zamn Zaddy!” when they see him walk by.
Jeff Goldblum—the star of The Fly, Jurassic Park, and Invasion of the Body Snatchers—is often referred to as “Zaddy Exhibit A.”
Just look at that picture. 110% zaddy.
If that didn’t help you out, and you’re still scratchin’ your head and wondering what a zaddy is, text Darcy—she’ll definitely know.
I think it’s important to highlight that you’re not just any zaddy, Joe Bob. No siree. You are the horror zaddy to end all horror zaddies and I’m gonna tell you why.
Numero uno: You’re a man who knows the definition of style. Cowboy hat. Check. Bolo tie. Check. Fancy shirt with a questionable pattern. Check. A belt buckle so shiny you could blind yourself pissin’ in the desert. Check. And a haircut that only a mother could love. Check.
Numero two-o: You’ve got a brain and you’re not afraid to use it. When I tune in to one of your marathons on Shudder, I can’t wait to hear that static pop, watch the camera tilt, and see your smiling face ready to share an interesting fact or some behind-the-scenes scoop. I swear, Joe Bob, by the end of Q: The Winged Serpent and The Stuff, you’d turned me into a Michael Moriarty devotee.
Numero three-o: You keep good company. Darcy, Kat, Rusty, and Honey Gregory have always been a terrific foil to your put-on oafishness.
Numero four-o: You know good garbonzas when you see ‘em. Please see related content above.
Numero five-o: From Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In to Profoundly Disturbing: The Shocking Movies that Changed History to your article in Texas Monthly about the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you’re one helluva fine writer. Don’t let any wimps or turkeys tell you otherwise.
Well, now you know, Joe Bob, you’re a horror zaddy and I hope you’ll keep doing what you’re doing and fighting the good fight for many years to come—we’re all the better for it.
You typically sign off with a simple, “Joe Bob says check it out.” It doesn’t have the same ring to it if I say it about you—my name not being Joe Bob and all—so do me a favor: look in a mirror, give yourself a knowing wink, and whisper it one time to yourself. After all, Joe Bob, it’s one of the greatest compliments a movie or person could get.
I can’t wait to see you again on Shudder’s The Last Drive-in.
With love and kisses,
P.S. Don’t let this go to your head.
P.P.S. Please tell Darcy, “Hello.”
2 thoughts on “A Love Letter to Joe Bob Briggs”
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