Everyone who is anyone knows about my obsession with SNL sweetheart, Andy Samberg. He is just the epitome of everything that I could ever want in another human being—crazy hair, smart, hilarious, has the ability to rhyme, dorky, Jewish (I’m a little bit of a Schiksa). I’m convinced that we are totally meant to be together and I think that he is the cat’s meow (that’s right—I said cat’s meow). I’m 98.97869849875% sure that we are going to get married and have crazy-haired little rapping babies one day. I am so sure that he’s going to fall in love with me that I would totally put money on it. All I have to do is penetrate his circle of friends and somehow earn his trust. Gee… How are you going to do that, Audrey? Well, let me let you in on a little secret, kiddies.

On April 14, 2007, Shia Lebeouf was the host on Episode 17 of the 32nd season of the late night comedy show, Saturday Night Live. During the rehearsals and up until the live taping of the show, he had the honor of working with my personal beacon of light, Andy Samberg. From what my sources have gathered (and by sources I mean, what I assume), the two strapping young men became rather chummy on set and from what I understand have remained friends ever since. What does this have to do with you marrying Andy Samberg? Be patient, grasshoppers.

You see, a little birdie (who I shall call The Red Eye) has informed me that Shia is shooting a movie here in Chicago with Rosario Dawson. Not only is this self-proclaimed homebody shooting here, he is also going about getting arrested at a Wal-greens (criminal records are hot) and partying up in our fair city at places like Underground (aka places that I can easily gain entry). Audrey, you’re not thinking—Oh, you better believe it, little ones. That is exactly what I am thinking.

I plan to stalk Shia Lebeouf and bed him in order to meet and, shortly there after, marry Andy Samberg (I’m thinking that we would probably elope). GASP! I know. It sounds crazy, but is it really? I have developed a very intricate plan and there is no way it can fail.

I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of Shia’s general interests and favorite things. From the gathered information, I have derived another of the handful of places that he would even think about going to given his shooting schedules and locations as well as the proximity in relation to his hotel suite.

Also, I figure that for the next week or so, I must keep tabs on anything concerning Shia’s whereabouts. He may throw out a surprise appearance at the museum or have dinner at Carmine’s or something. You never know with these Hollywood-types.

Now, realistically, I cannot be in more than one place at a time (for now at least) and I realize that is a shortcoming in the plan. For this reason, I have installed a number of private security cameras and recruited a number of spies (or as I lovingly refer to them, “spias”) up and down the Gold Coast and anywhere and everywhere that could be a possibly be Shia-friendly.

When I get wind of a Shia siting, I’m going to need confirmation ASAP. I have the best people in town working for me, so if they fuck up—they’re fired and they will never work in this town again. Once I receive confirmation, I make way to the said destination and wine and dine Lebeouf until he is in the buff. This is how I imagine our initial meeting will go:

First, I wait until he casually walks up to the bar. I casually bump into to him not letting him know that I recognize him as anyone famous or anything like that, of course. That’s when I apologize and offer to buy him a drink. Of course, he’ll accept and I then yell, “Bar keep a long island for me and a roofie-tini for the gentleman.” I make eyes at him. We talk and we laugh and we share a few moments until the roofie kicks in. I tell his buddies or whoever he’s with that he said that he wanted me to take him back to his hotel (and if they don’t believe me, I’ll just pull the ol’ Weekend at Bernie’s shtick). From there, I will bed him (because what fun is it to roofie up a celebrity and then not bang him?). Afterwards, I hire a hooker to pose in the incriminating photos that I take of him (this is for later use).

The next morning, Shia will wake up and see me in his arms. I’ll tell him about how we fell in love and that I loved him before I even knew that he was a big movie star. He’ll be a little scared at first, but then he will get comfortable and use to the idea of me. After he is done shooting his film, he whisks me away to New York to meet his family and some of his buddies.

Coincidently, Shia and I would attend the Saturday Night Live after party and run into none other than, Andy-mother-f-in-Samberg. How funny is that? Who would have thunk it? Andy and I hit it off right away. Shia conveniently does not feel good for some reason or another and calls it a night, leaving it up to Andy (the love of my life) to make sure that I get back to him safely. From that night on, Andy and I develop a strong bond that cannot be broken and some might say a forbidden love.

Conveniently soon after, incriminating photos of Shia and a hooker turn up all over the place on—covers of magazines and all over Perez Hilton. We get into a huge fight. I tell him that I cannot be with someone who has such an insatiable sexual appetite that he has to turn to prostitutes and that I am embarrassed to be seen with him. He tries to fight for us, but I tell him no. Then I point out that I realize that these pictures were in the very hotel room that we first made sweet love in and cry that I can’t believe that he was doing this right under my nose. And then I leave him.

As soon as I walk out of his apartment, I call Andy crying, looking for a shoulder to cry on. He provides that shoulder. Andy tells me that he would never ever think of doing that to me if I was his lady friend and then he professes his love to me in a digital short that he had been working on called “Shia’s Girl” with Martin Short starring as Shia. About five minutes later, we get married and there is a whole tabloid frenzy about this ridiculous love triangle.

And that is the reader’s digest of why I need to bone Shia Leobouf.

I mean, yes, I’m technically using Shia and ruining lives, but it’s all for love, baby. It’s all to show Andy that I care. So, don’t judge me and claim that my intentions weren’t good and that I ruined the career of the next Tom Hank’s single-handedly. That’s mean. I know that you would do it too and we all know love makes us do crazy things.

So I’m asking you from the bottom of my heart, if you have any news or information about Shia’s whereabouts, please contact Audrey. If you don’t want to do it for me, do it for the sake of true love. I promise that you will get into heaven if you do. And if you don’t, I will make your life in hell as miserable as possible. Kisses.

UPDATE: Turns out Cusack knows the studios that are filming Shia’s latest project. Isn’t that a beard stroker?