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Rosario Dawson Loves Me | Chapters 1 through 4

Rosario Dawson Loves Me or I Want To Die Right Now, Please.
by Justin Valmassoi


When I go to Heaven, Rosario Dawson and I will host many fine dinner parties. This is where I write about those dinner parties. With myself. And Rosario Dawson. And you. And angels. I cannot wait to die.


I used to think Mike was exaggerating, but no. Eva Mendes is pretty much flawless in every regard. I mean, she could be a complete hooker with a terrible personality and pick at her toenails or cry for no reason all the time, but I wouldn’t know because I will never find myself anywhere near the woman.

Ergo, at a distance, she remains unassailably perfect. Personally, I’m still casting my vote with Rosario Dawson for celebrity girlfriend, but I will be very happy for Mike when we die and go to Heaven for being so great and pleasant and swell and God gives us our dreamgirls and we’re out at Heaven dinner and Eva’s all like, “You guys should come over to our Heaven house later for Scrabble and wine,” and I kind of take Rosario’s hand and I’m like, “Don’t they make such a great couple?” and she goes, “We’d love to,” to Eva because it’s rude of me not to answer even though it’s Heaven and Eva Mendes can read my thoughts because Heaven telepathy but we still pretend like language is required because it’s soothing and then she (Rosario Dawson) cocks an eyebrow at me but with a small secret smile just at the corners of her lips and I say, “Of course we’ll come over Eva. We’d love to,” and she (Rosario Dawson) gives me a kiss on the cheek which I make a kiss on the mouth and Mike says, “Get a room,” and then a room appears because Heaven and we all laugh and finish our oysters and we tip the angel waiter one million dollars and then go play Scrabble.

Man, I can’t wait to die.



Goin’ to Heeeeeaven, gonna see my giirrrrrlfriiieeend.
I’ll be all like, hey Rosario Daaaaawson and she’ll say hi Juuuustin.
Then we’ll make a baaaaby. Mmm hm.
Baby baby baby. Rosario oh oh.


It can’t just be me. This looks like Heaven, right? Like when I die and go to Heaven and all my friends are like, “It’s in a beurre blanc. I hope you like it,” and “Oh, hey, Rosario Dawson. It’s so nice to see you here, kissing Justin constantly,” and things like that while the sun sinks low and heavy toward the horizon and all the wine disappears amid the tinkling of crystal and the clattering symphony of flatware on porcelain or the laughter of genuine camaraderie. And of course the smell of flowers and their pollen colors our palates, making everything just a little sweeter, a little more a part of the earth. And then some angels are all like, “Would you all care for back massages and a brief stint in the sauna before we play levitating Heaven polo?” and everyone’s like, “Fuck yes, thank you,” and Rosario Dawson takes my hand while I’m turned to talk to Mike and when I glance over she puts a dollop of crème fraiche on my nose and everybody laughs but then she kisses it off and I kiss her chin and the angel Gabriel is all like, “Ooooooh, get it!” and then we totally French kiss and Eva Mendes and Mike shake their heads because they see this shit all the time and then the dirty dishes turn into doves and fly away and Jake’s all amazed because he’s new in Heaven and we’re like “Just wait until these chairs turn into white stallions, kid,” and then they do and it’s sauna time.

Someone kill me. I have such an afterlife to get to.


So I wake up today (I mean, I don’t really wake up because I’m in Heaven. Instead, like a small but radiant sun I send my consciousness out into the world [that world being Heaven] in waves, creating my perfect physical body from clouds and meat and gold before making some Heaven coffee [which is like gas station coffee but WAY better]). Without turning around I smile and make my arms into stirrup-y things because my wife Rosario Dawson is running up behind me and she wants a piggyback ride. As the impact of her body rocks me forward an ethereal pair of angel hands appears and steadies me while I sort of grab her (Rosario Dawson’s) ass and do that thing where you kind of duck and hike your shoulders up simultaneously so she’s secure and snug against my back and then we (well, I) run around our 3200 square foot kitchen, dodging the many islands with integrated Wolf stoves and rangetop burners and the counters brimming with fresh seasonal fruits and vegetables while she giggles and says “Faster!” and digs her perfectly manicured fingernails into my chest, her hair trailing in the breeze through our many windows (in Heaven the breeze is always gentle and smells vaguely of distant flowers, except when it smells like bacon).

I do not get tired nor out of breath but after a time we decide to make breakfast together, and she gets flour everywhere including on her adorable little nose and it somehow makes her more beautiful, like a beauty mark or a smattering of freckles can somehow enhance a person’s features through bizarre visual alchemy and some of it is in her hair and I go to brush it out but I have eggwhite on my hands and it just gets gross so we close our eyes and when we open them we’re in our spacious shower with the seven separate showerheads and we make love there in the steam and the body wash bubbles and my luxurious head of hair is all soaked and kind of coming down into my eyes and she smooshes it around and off my face so I can see her while we kiss and then some angels come in and towel us off and one of them reads us the newspaper (It’s all good news because Heaven) and they’ve finished making breakfast which is just chilaquiles with salmon but they’re SO GOOD and we decide to go to the movies and it’s a double feature with Road House and They Live and Rosario Dawson is all like, “Put on the sunglasses,” and I’m all like, “No, I will not put on the sunglasses,” and we mock fight for fifteen minutes making those exaggerated punching and arm swish noises and she says, “I love you,” and I go, “You know I love you. I love you so much,” and she gets a big tear in the corner of her eye but it’s a happy tear and then she kisses me and it’s almost too hard but not hard enough because I want to kiss her right to death, forever and ever and that would also be Heaven, which is where we live. - J.V.

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