Now Shut Up Ashleigh!

My friend Ashleigh has been hounding me since I moved to LA in 2006 to get a picture with walking panty creamer Ryan Phillippe.  He's her favorite actor, and although she has no idea how the process works (or that I don't take requests!) every fucking time he tweets or farts or burps she's on it, and she's making sure I know exactly where he is at all times.  She's like some kind of thirst trap GPS!  When she found out Ryan was in New York this week she bombarded me with texts of his twitter and instagram feed until I was forced to take a break from googling "Joe Manganiello naked" and stalk his ass.  If I wasn't suffering from PTSD (President Trump Stress Disorder) I would have stopped at CVS and picked up a copy of Cruel Intentions from the dvd rack for him to sign (there's ALWAYS a copy of Cruel Intentions on sale in the dvd rack at CVS), but I am and I didn't so all I have is this photo with Ryan and a million texts messages like "Did you tell him about me?" and "I'm not waiting for Facebook.  Send me the damn picture!" from Ashleigh.