An open letter to Offspring’s Patrick that reads more like a threat.

Dear Patrick,

I’m so sorry these words are being broadcast in a public arena but I’m assuming your current address, somewhere in the leafy streets of purgatory, does not come with Wi-Fi or a usable email address, so this mode of communication will simply have to do.

Look, I’m not going to sugar coat this for you Patrick, things are about to get a bit rough for you. If you think being ploughed down in the middle of the road by a manic car or sitting through an endless Proudman family dinner was tough then you’re probably not going to want to read this letter through to the end, but this is something you need to hear.

Patrick, my friend. It’s time for you to make like a moth and go into the light.

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The heavenly light of your eternal reward that it, not those flashy stage lights they use on the Offspring set, although I can see that you’ve been very confused for quite some time now. But to be perfectly frank, it’s time you Google mapped your way out of the hip streets of Melbourne and front up to the pearly gates.

Because, dude, you are no longer meant to be top-side in this world. Unless the Offspring creators want to kick off a shared universe with The Walking Dead and have you shuffle and groan your way through the hallways of St Francis Hospital on a regular basis, then it’s time to accept the fact that you died in season four. Therefore, you should not have been taking up prominent real estate in the following seasons.

Look, man, I get it. You were a pivotal part of the Offspring universe, second only to Nina’s coveted red Tigerlily jacket.

Your love story with Nina was a delicious, addictive blend of will they/won’t they chemistry and anticipation. The kind of storytelling that will still be warming our hearts in a 100 years time when Earth’s new alien overlords attempt to immerse themselves in our primitive culture by logging on to Tenplay and enjoy the exploits of a boho blonde woman with a tendency for falling over her words.

You were a star and suddenly the biggest story line in the show’s history was about to revolve around you and your dramatic demise. It was the kind of material that wins wars and daytime Emmy’s alike, a brutal deathbed scene that brought Australia to its knees and had legions of Offspring fans taking a day off work to mourn your passing.

Then, when your true love Nina gave birth to your daughter, you appeared by her bedside flooded in the kind of soft, angelic light previously only achieved by Mariah Carey's assistant shaking the still glowing corpses of fireflies over her perfectly lit face.

It was the most bittersweet, perfect way for you to say your final goodbyes and head off into the clouds.

Except, you didn’t.

This was where you got confused and decided to pull a Casper The Friendly Ghost manoeuvre and haunt the living world with your sad eyes poking out of a used white pillowcase.

While the rest of the Offspring characters enjoyed their off season break, you continued to drift around Melbourne. No doubt speaking to small, impressionable children through static TVs or making misshapen pottery in a warehouse with Demi Moore.

Then seasons five and six started filming and suddenly that big death scene episode you were so excited to take part in didn’t seem all that great anymore.

The other characters on the show still mentioned your name from time to time, but you weren’t getting any real scene time and since you could no longer take on corporeal form you were pretty much left hanging in a hell of your own making. A feckless lost soul whose dreams of a successful future seemed permanently dashed, you were pretty much a Millennial with an Arts Degree.

And so you started rocking up in strange and unwelcome ways, like when Nina was enjoying sex time with other gentlemen callers or creepily hanging around her living room like some lurking Jehovah's Witness who had somehow managed to sneak through the front door and just make himself at home.

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You continued to insert yourself (and your frozen sperm), into Nina's life and new relationships, ruining her chances at growth and happiness. But, even worse than that, Patrick, was the fact that you are currently ruining MY TV happiness.

Offspring is now stuck in some kind of demented, Groundhog Day vortex. A place where Nina's story-line will never evolve and change for my interest and enjoyment because she's stuck having perpetual ghost sex with you.

Your story line has not only jumped the shark, it has now sailed over the entire aquarium, visited the gift shop and is currently trying to validate its parking.

It's time for you to get your unfinished business in order and go into the light, Patrick.

Then we as an audience can look back at your time on the show and remember you fondly. Instead of having to dust off the phone book, call up an old man in a black cloak and and have him Ouija board your see-through ass out of those over-priced Melbourne dwellings by force. No one wants to see that.

Offspring season seven kicks off this week, I hope to not be seeing you.

Kind regards,

A true fan with too much time and bitterness on her hands.

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