An Open Letter To Mr. Idris Elba.

 Dear Mr. Elba:

I’ll be in me bunk.

I admire your skill and talent as a performer. And I am thrilled to see a Black man ascend to the ranks of megastar in an industry that does everything to deny and homogenize. I do not wish to cast any shadow upon the tremendous nature of your achievements. However. You are making some career choices that are proving difficult for me.


Your decision to play Shere Khan in The Jungle Book means humans all over the world are strangely aroused by a Tiger of Dubious Morals. Would this have been the alpha and omega, I could have accepted this as an (odd, slightly uncomfortable slightly hot) anomaly.


Ride 'em, cowboy.

Hey, it worked for Zeus.

But then you struck again. I wound up watching several movies on a recent flight, and found it difficult to understand why I found Zootopia‘s Chief Bogo vaguely titillating until my research uncovered your particular voice talent as the culprit. But I understand. These are, of course, plum roles and who can blame you?


However the latest situation is troubling. Eroticising a tiger is hardly a stretch. Even the brawny majesty of the water buffalo can easily conjure iconography reminiscent of Greek mythology and the troublesome allure of the bullring.  But I am gravely concerned for my sanity and that of the planet when I learned that you are also in Finding Dory. My (initial, fleeting, freakish) hopes that your talent would bring to life some deep sea cephalopod – (after all, we have hundreds of years of history where tentacled creatures are represented within and the focus erotic fantasy!) but my hopes were dashed when I discovered that Fluke is, in fact, a seal.


Oh dear. No.

Pinniped proclivities be damned…this is just way too far into an uncanny valley of WTF bonerism. I fear that, in several days, I’ll discover wide swaths of my subconscious crying havoc and letting slip the dogs of seal schtupping wet dreams. Like, really wet.



There is not much to be done for it and so I am sure to be dragged deeper in to all manner of freaky anthro yiff porn.


But I can handle it. I am, after all, an Executive Pervert.


Just promise – I beg You – if you’re approached to do the next installation of A Bug’s Life or Toy Story…have mercy. I cain’t be lusting after no bugs.




I’m still scarred from a run-in with a cache of Bondage Fairies comics.


Yours, Most Sincerely,


Mrs. Mollena Lee Williams-Haas

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