Why hello! Yes, it has been a long, long time since I watched your show! That's because Ellen is my new love. She's cute and funny and doesn't make anybody feel bad about themselves. Oooh, except for Brittany Murphy, whom Ellen has called a liar numerous times, but surely you concede she deserves it?
So, yeah. I don't really watch your show, but man, when you're on prime-time, you're on primetime! I think it's funny that you made Pat O'Brien listen to his dirty phone calls on national television. On primetime, even. That was awesome. I mean, Jesus. Imagine you're Pat O'Brien. You can't get any lower, right? I mean, you talked about hookers and blow and threesomes and fucking and going fucking crazy and somehow, in this technomological age, it got out on the Internet. Wow. Bad, right? Yeah. So you go into rehab. You retreat. You grow, you share, you learn. You make a nice macrame pot holder.
And juuuuusssst when people are starting to forget about your dirty deeds (And by the way, most people who don't know how to work a computer, like, say, my mom, don't know about all this other stuff. They think you're just an alcoholic.) you get OUT of rehab and speak with Dr. Phil who makes you listen to your phone calls about sex and ass-licking and going fucking crazy and just wink, okay? He makes you listen to them, then he berates you for it. On television. And you sit there and you think to your little Pat O'Brien self: "Where can I find some razor blades and a hot bath?"
Yeah, Phil. That's great. You're a fucking awesome guy. Jesus. The dude is already a philandering, drug-addled fuck, and just when he's convinced himself that he's worked through his issues and whatall, you tell him it's not good enough because you, Lord HiandMighty, think it's bull, whatever healing he's done and why not humiliate him a little further on television when millions are watching?
Here's to hoping the video tapes with you and the monkeys don't ever get out.
Sincerely,
Me.
Dear Katie Holmes:
Tom Cruise clearly does not love you. He likes the idea of you (as his beard), sure. But anybody who truly loved you would know HOW to kiss you and would not try to gnaw your face off like a beaver.
Love,
Me
Dear Tom Cruise:
I was totally kidding when I said you were gay. The way you gave Katie Holmes lip herpes finally, once and for all, proves that you are really and truly a heterosexual man.
Kisses,
(But not really, because eewwwww!)
Me
P.S. Just kidding! You are captain of the Gay Love Boat! You're the gay captain of the Gay Love Boat and you got caught boning the gay purser on the gay observation deck! I bet you even have the sailor suit with a little captain's hat! Ahem. Gay.
Dear Nicole Kidman,
I know for a fact, that were your tear-ducts not soldered shut, you would weep just a little for the troubled miss Holmes.
I bet you're thinking to yourself:
"Poor Joey! She threw away what she had with that cute Pacey to see if she could find true PR-themed love with my dear, sweet, gay Tom."
I BET you're thinking that, but I can't be certain, because your shiny, hard, new face doesn't allow for emotions of any kind. C'est la vie. C'est la vie!
Love,
Me
Dear Sean Penn,
What will it take for you to find an island and mellow out on it for, like, a year? You could name the island and have friends over to visit whom you could then coax into laughing at your lame "jokes" about Chris Rock and there could be an animal on the island with you, and if you had the magical conch shell, you could defeat the wild beast, but it would only come back ten times stronger and-- dear God. I better stop before you decide to make this into a movie.
Sincerely,
Me
Dear Stars of That 70's Show,
I am going to ignore the fact that like, 40% of you are scientologists, 30% of you are overexposed for dating teen starlets, 10% of you are auditioning for hosting jobs on the View, 10% of you were once on Friends, and 10% of you are Ashton Kutcher. Yes, I am ignoring all of the above to bring you this special message to which you must listen very carefully.
Are you ready? Are you sure you're ready? Like, really ready and not just pret--HEREITIS: Run, Topher, Run!
Respectfully,
Me
*****************
Of course, there are more celebrities to write letters to, but my ink well has run dry and my candle grows short. T'is but a nubbin!
Besides, I need time to tell you guys about my new hair.
Last week there was a big, huge work party, which was tres, tres swanky and I needed something a l'il different, ya know? So I called my awesome hair dresser Puffy (I call him that cause he's stylin' like P.Diddy without the slack-jaw, and has puffy hair) and I axed him could he do a l'il sumpin' sumpin' with my lank locks and lo. There were highlights. And they were blonde!
Today, I didn't do my hair at all. I rolled out of bed, showered, sprayed goop into it so it wouldn't get TOO frizzy, and ran to catch the bus. It looked good! You know, for me not haivng done anything. And so I thank thee, hair gods. Thou art amazing. It's, whaddaya call it? Beach hair. But shorter than, say Mary Kate Olson's. Her hair sucks.
I have a question though: Do ionizing buttons on hair dryers really work or is that just to make me buy it? I think it works because ions is science and seriously, how could science just lie to me like that?
I feel bad even asking this question because tomorrow, my hair dryer's ion switch is gonna be all: "Bitch, I will ionize your ass! How could you not believe? How you gonna play a stylin' implement, huh?"
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