I think there's something you ought to know

Even though this is our first date, I believe we've made a real, lasting connection. It's like we've known each other for our entire lives. I don't want to rush headlong into anything, but as I gaze into your eyes, I imagine what it might be like to look at that face forever, as we face the future hand-in-hand and by each other's side. I feel like I could tell you anything, and that's why I think I should divulge a few things that weren't on my match.com profile. I want to be really honest and keep no secrets so this relationship gets off on the right foot.
For one thing, I'm not a real blond. I get my hair dyed every week so that the roots don't show. My real hair color is dark brown, and it's not actually this curly. I use a fair amount of product to give it some body. Another thing is that my eyes aren't actually green. They're also brown, a lighter brown than my hair but still fairly dark. I use contact lenses, and I have a pair that makes my eyes look more hazel, as well as a glow-in-the-dark pair I use for Halloween. I'm sorry to have misrepresented myself to you, but it's important to me that you know what you're getting before we take this relationship to the next step. And there's more, my darling. I hope you don't think any less of me.
My boobs aren't actually this big. Truth be told, I don't have any breasts, so to speak. I have a rare breathing condition that requires regular maintenance on my lungs, about two or three times a month. In order to facilitate this treatment, my lungs are actually situated outside of my body. They're covered by a thin layer of gauze, and for our date I used a lot of concealer and a ruffled blouse to make them look more breast-like. The bottom of my lungs are tucked into my skirt. See? I got this breathing condition when I was shot a dozen times carrying three kilos of cocaine in my uterus through the Florida Everglades. I was able to submerge in the swamp and hide from the authorities for days, but unfortunately the packages of cocaine burst inside me and I sustained permanent pelvic damage. As a result, I can't feel my reproductive organs at all. I have to wear a diaper because I never know when I am urinating. But that's not how I damaged my lungs. They were punctured by gunfire and then filled with swamp water, which festered inside of my body over the several days I hid from the law. My body went into toxic shock and my kidneys completely shut down. So six times a month I need to go to the hospital for a painful and lengthy dialysis. I don't have any health insurance, so I provide oral services to gentlemen at the bus station. I think you know what I mean by oral services. They like me because I can pull my dentures out and minimize their discomfort.
Oh, it feels so good to be completely honest! I just knew you would understand. But there is more to my story, my darling. I haven't always looked like the woman you see before you. No, I never was a man, but about ten years ago, I was a pygmy marmoset being used for experiments at a Swiss genetics laboratory. I'm not really sure what happened, precisely: there was some swine DNA, some bovine DNA, and some kind of top secret mutagen that was developed by scientists involved in chemical warfare. I don't remember the process, obviously, but that was as much as I could glean when I escaped from the laboratory and grabbed as many files as I could. That's when I learned that I could kill people with my mind, sometimes inadvertently. I've pretty much got it under control now, but for the first few months I accidentally murdered the cashier at the Burger King counter every time I went in to buy a Triple Whopper. And that's another admission: I need to eat flesh to survive. I can quell my cravings for a while by consuming large quantities of meat, but eventually I need to eat raw flesh and blood directly from a living being. It doesn't need to be human, darling! I'm not a vampire. However, I will need to bite into a stray cat or dog from time to time. I really hope this doesn't disappoint you.
I can see from your reaction that you are pretty surprised, and I don't blame you. But now that we've got all of that nasty business out of the way, we can begin our relationship on a foundation of truth and honesty. Being that I am such an unusual woman, I am pretty sure I'll abide by and accept any of your faults or nasty habits. Except for smoking. If I find out that you smoke cigarettes, I'm going to kill you with my mind.

Let's appreciate the works of Miller-Boyett

As appreciators of fine art, we like our eccentrics. We enjoy the unrestrained antics of creative minds, whose output makes our dull lives worth living. We suffer the egotistical demands and strange attitudes in the hope that, ultimately, it will result in a work which will change the way we see the world. Far too often, however, we ignore the persons behind the scenes: the accountants, the lawyers, the paper-pushers that allow artists to live their unfettered lifestyles. Without them, we wouldn't have the great works that constitute our cultural relevance. I would like to take a moment to appreciate one of these minds behind the mind: the television production company known as Miller-Boyett.

They originally began in 1969 as Miller-Milkis Productions, and set about producing a few forgettable made-for-TV movies. This duo hit paydirt in 1974 when they produced a sitcom for ABC named Happy Days. Banking off the nostalgia generated by the successful film American Graffiti, Thomas Miller and Edward Milkis may have realized, at that moment, that the secret to making long-lasting, lucrative television shows is to make them as bland an inoffensive as possible. Pull the audience's heartstrings and have a good laugh track. Robert Boyett was brought to the team, and together the trio developed more hits, like Laverne & Shirley in 1976 and Mork and Mindy in 1978.

I'm not sure what caused Edward Milkis to leave the team, so I'll just make something up: late in 1979, the young upstart Boyett--a full nine years younger than Milkis--had an idea. A lascivious, dirty, nasty idea. On a dry-erase board in his garage, he began calculating the most diabolically clever television program in history: one part The Odd Couple, two parts Texaco Star Theater (starring the cross-dresser Milton Berle), and a dash of Rhoda to make it contemporary. What he came up with was the plot for the criminally underrated sitcom Bosom Buddies, starring the comic duo of Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari. Milkis was furious; he didn't take a load of shrapnel in his ass in Korea so two fancy boys could parade around on television in women's clothing. Tom Miller, however, only being two years older than Boyett, loved the idea. Miller and Boyett parted ways with Ed Milkis in 1980, and never looked back.

Together, Miller-Boyett created mediocre hit after mediocre hit, each time ripping off elements of other successful television programs. There was Perfect Strangers, a kind of Odd Couple with more sex appeal. There was Full House, an unholy mix of My Three Sons, The Brady Bunch, and My Two Dads. There was Valerie, which began as a vehicle for television actor Valerie Harper. Then she got uppity and was replaced by Sandy Duncan. The show was re-titled The Hogan Family, and ratings soared even higher.

Miller-Boyett were true geniuses of the prime-time sitcom, and the crown jewel of their achievements is none other than Family Matters, a show which relied on practically every sitcom device ever invented. There was the henpecked, fat father; the grating but even-keeled wife; the nosy grandmother; the annoying next-door neighbor. There was even a single mother in the form of Rachel, the wife's sister, who struggled between raising a boy on her own, and wanting to go on dates with as many men as possible (but NOT get laid--never that). As this show gained popularity, the dynamic team of Miller-Boyett showed their production prowess by never being afraid to can actors, even those central to the theme of the show. What began as the touching story of family life in suburban Chicago morphed into the ridiculously unbelievable antics of Steven Q. Urkel, a character who, during the life of the show, was made to impersonate Bruce Lee no fewer than three times. Miller-Boyett, we salute thee.