Dearest Brit:
I'm sorry I wasn't able to return any of your calls or texts. You said you wanted to go cold turkey on our relationship. The exact words you used were, "It's not me, it's you." Besides I was Kum'n & Going in the middle of the prairie and probably couldn't get a cell signal anyway.
[In a complete tangent, Republican Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney visited Kum and Go. Funny, if anyone was going to Kum and Go, I figured it would be Bill Clinton. Thank you, I'm here all week. We now return you to our pretend Brittney letter.]
But seriously, kid. The stuff I've been hearing sounds crazy even for you. Shopping in your wedding dress? Walking around naked in a clothing store? Getting advice from Dr. Phil? That's the bald leading the bald, honey. Stay away from that quack. I'm surprised he was able to get his nose out of Oprah long enough to come talk to you anyway.
And now apparently you've been appearing in bustiers and affecting a British accent. I think you may be suffering from Madonnarhea. It's a joke. I kid because I pretend to care.
Bless you and your knocked up sister though. If it weren't for you two, we'd be stuck with two weeks of Stupor Bowl Hype and endless political news. Keep up the good work and please plan your next major breakdown/pub stunt for a Wednesday. You'll get the A talent on the networks instead of those weekend hacks.
Love,
t2ed
P.S. Dating a paparazzi? Please, your publicist can do better than that.
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1 comment:
I have a plan to make Brit my new best friend and get her back on the straight and narrow. People are going to regard me as a genius.
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