Celebrity Fanmail from a bitter lil' Arab

Natalie Portman

2005-08-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Natalie Portman,

I believe that Don King is more intelligent than Einstein. I mean, if they were in a chess match against each other, yes, it's pretty much a given that Einstein would most likely win. But, Don King would own the board, own the pieces, and walk away with a million dollars. Now, would you rather be a chess champion with unwashed hair, or a million dollars richer? I like money. Money is fun. I have little. If I had money, I'd buy an island in the pacific ocean where I'd have a huge mansion with a dead garden. I'll hire two sumo wrestlers and watch them fight over who gets to feed me. I would hide out in my house as much as possible. It would be safe in my house. No sock stealing jerks to bother me.

Anyways, I'm thinking about starting a band. I'm going to name it, Daniel Johns' Dead Body. I'm gonna need a washboard player, rubber band flicker, and a tambourine girl. Are you in, Nat? Come on, you can play the spoons!

I'm already writing a smash hit called, "Corpses Can't Say No". We'll revolutionize the pop culture. We'll get little teenies and clones of ourselves at every concert, and believe me, there will be concerts.

Tom Hanks

2005-07-21T05:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Tom Hanks,

Can you please stop invading my dreams with your infuriating whining about us having a life together?

There will be no mansion in Southern France. There won't be any ice cream late at night while watching tales from the crypt. There won't be a wedding, with lillies and lilacs, Chuck E Cheese, or an armadillo cake. There won't be a surprise prom date. There won't be a Dahmer day with blow up dolls and strawberry jello. There won't be any birthday parties with brownie cubes and toasted pecans. There won't be any attempts to make a cherry rhubarb pie. There won't be a Nintendo in your shower. There won't be any dancing. There will be no matching ferrets.

So just shut the hell up.

Anyways, where did the Hansons go? Nothing like a couple of lispy blond pre-teens singing about the strange world of love, even though their voices have yet to change, let alone experience the true meaning of Mmm Bop. I had pictures of them scotch-taped to my wall like any other influenctial brainwashed teenie bopper with their collections of teen beat and wax for their braces. Oh the excitement that would rage through my loins everytime I would see their long flowing locks on the TV, with their bright blue eyes and lucious pink lips.

Of course, me being the bee’s knees person I am, I soon grew out of my idol drooling days and picked up a CD that actually contained a bass player in the band. Ahh, to be young again and on the verge of self-induced change. I traded in my snazzy shoes for some torn up sneakers and baggy jeans. I was the epitome of cool. Well, here I am today, and still a lot cooler than you are. I mean, I sit at home wasting much of my time over the internet, arguing over the complexities of pseudo-Islamic terrorism. Can’t think of anything that might come close to beating that.

NEW AND IMPROVED

2005-07-16T05:43:00.000-07:00

This blog will not be updated, I have moved to my official website which I launched about a week ago. I pumped a lot of energy into it, so please give a shit.

www.shitire.com

You can give me some feedback here or on our sexy forums.

Jeffrey Dahmer

2005-06-22T07:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Jeffrey Dahmer,

I miss you, the bed is so cold without you and I'm lonely.

I saw a guy who looks like you at the bakery today. "All bakery-based familiarity is ridden with risk and doom," I whisper to myself. "What?", the slightly chubby man said, after hearing the annoying murmur, "Nothing." I was really scared of him for some reason, but I did not know why. It could've been his thick unibrow or his left eyeball seeming much bigger than the other one. Maybe. Possibly. Shut up.

It was one of those moments where you just want to disappear and be home where you're safe and sound, throwing corn chips at the television screen for zooming on people I hate's faces.

After I glanced at the coolteenz (ew gross noisy girals), I remembered the infamous 'Croissant Killler' of the 1950s, the 'Scone Strangler' a couple of years back and, very recently, a man found suffocated under the world's largest eclair. All victims of when baking goes bad. I better be careful one day or it'll be the barrel of a gun pointing at me through the middle of some Jewish bread snack.

ES
Lock your fridge

Matt Damon

2005-06-22T04:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Matt Damon,

I always welcome attention-seeking actors to come out of their mother's wretched wombs but bragging about yourself is a great way to ask for help.

If you don't have a website uploaded on the internet dedicated to all-things-Matt for you to slap on your business card (because such websites are essential to our living and breathing), there are a few hosts out there who will gladly host your web page for free. Here's to hoping your stay online is a long and memorable one.

You're a hella' of a fella', buddy. But me? I got nothing. Nobody wants to hire me. I think I'll go write some poetry and start wearing a beret. Now I just gotta find the freakin' beret store.

ES
Senior Welcoming Staff, Division A

Russell Crowe

2005-06-21T04:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Russell Crowe,

I think you're the reason why Tom Lehrer said that actors better hold on to their ego, because without them, they have no talent.

You're nothing special, and neither is your utterly boring uncute urgh ohsodisgusting son, so please stop talking about him.

Did you hear what happened to Tom Cruise very recently? He was in London premiering for his new movie while some guy with a joke microphone pulled him aside, and proceeded to ask him a few questions. Tom thinks he's speaking into it for an interview, but it squirts water into his face. The mock-interviewer's a comedy genius, I'm sure. Once I had the bulldog clamps securely in place on my sides, I tried to laugh, but to no avail. The best bit was looking at the facial expression that the 'comedian' had when he got called on it and shat his keks when the babylon collared his ass. Oh me, oh my!

Saddam Hussain's spreading around love advice, according to my MSN homepage. It's apparently some joke thing that I dont feel like reading, but in reality, it's going to sound something like this:

1) GIRLS LIKE TO WEAR THINGS WITH NO SLEEVES OR LEGS.

2) GIRLS WEAR Y-UNDERWEARS BUT AFTER THE INVASION THONGS HAVE BEEN INTRODUCED THANKS TO AMERICA'S DEEP CONCERN AND THE SUDDEN INSTALLATION OF DEMOCRACY.

3) GIRLS LIKE THINGS THAT ARE CUTE AND SMALL LIKE THE MAGGOTS CRAWLING OUT OF AN EXECUTED KURD'S EYEBALL. THIS IS WHY ON DATES I PRETEND TO BE REALLY TINY AND SPEAK KURDISH.

4) GIRLS FIND IT HARD TO SIT ON MACHINES THAT DO NOT ASSIST IN THE PREPARATION OF BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS.

5) GIRLS ARE OFFENDED BY ANYTHING THAT IS NOT DESIGNED FOR OR BY PALESTINIAN ORPHANS.

6) AMERICAN GIRLS SUFFER FROM A VISUAL DEFECT THAT MAKES ARABS AND MUSLIMS APPEAR AS LIZARDS.

7) LOOK AT THE SKY AND TELL A GIRL SHE'LL BE FLYING AMONGST THE STARS TONIGHT. ONCE SHE LOOKS AT YOU AND THE CORNERS OF HER MOUTH FORM INTO A SMILE GRAB HER NECK AND TELL HER THAT A HELICOPTER IS WAITING FOR SHE IS CHOSEN TO BE A PROSTITUTE IN SUMATRA WHERE SHE WON'T SEE A CENT OF THE MONEY SHE IS ILLEGALLY MAKING. GIRLS CAN'T RESIST A CLEVER GUY!

8) KILL HER FAMILY, BRUTALLY, AND IN FRONT OF HER. ONCE THEY'RE DEAD YOU WILL BE ABLE TO SAY "I UNDERSTAND" AND ACTUALLY MEAN IT BECAUSE YOU HAVE SEEN IT HAPPEN AS WELL.

9) TYPE IN ALL CAPS. OK THIS ONE IS A NO GO. SORRY.

10) I BET YOU DID ALL OF THE ABOVE AND I BET MOST OF YOU DIDN'T SUCCEED AND I BET ! THIS IS BECAUSE YOU ARE A NERD AND DO NOT UNDERSTAND GIRLS.

Diego Luna

2005-06-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Diego Luna,

I think we're like this. You know. Very close. With your hair all swoosh, and your smile all crooked in a creepy Jewel kind of way. Do you know what happened to Jewel? She's all "uh, award-winning pop stars, kiss my barely clad ass."

I brushed my hair tonight. For you. I knew you would like that. More Salma for you. You know, she did Antonio Bandaras. He probably gave her some crazy antoniobandaras STD, those things spread as fast as her slut ho bag legs. I am far more superior than Salma. Her last name reminds me of kyak, and I imagine her sending smoke signals from her wigwam.

I wish to see you succeed. So that Mexico can rise and conquer all, at least the movie industry. Which, come on now, is pretty much the world.

ES

Richard Gere

2005-06-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Richard Gere,

I realized today that I missed one of my job applications' deadline, so I smacked myself. It was meant to be the "oh I am so dumb" smack, but I caught my eye with my nail and was rolling around in pain for some minutes.

Money should grow on trees. Strike that. Money should grow on a tree. Just one, which I should own.

I woke up this morning thinking about being a Russian songwriter. All I have to do, is learn Russian.

Thank you for listening dear Richard, but I must be going. Until then, wear your slippers to the market, or they'll see your face.

ES

Tom Cruise

2005-06-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Tom Cruise,

Here I am, feeling useless on some idle Saturday, which is considered a business day in the Gulf, unless you work for a bank. I tell you this because I know that you are unaware of many things, making you the equievalent of a snail that has been stuck under a rock for the past 50 years, feeling lonely and starved for attention, occasionally falling asleep to the sound of Stereophonics while attempting suicide.

You are the joke of tabloid newspapers. I would shove my tongue in a garbage disposal, deal with the unbearable pain and filthy sight of the chunky gummy blood running down my chin by jamming my head in with a tack hammer in order to end my pathetically humdrum existence if I knew that I was going to turn into some grisly 40-something year old who converted to a non-existent religion created and followed by a bunch of secretly callous, fucked up sci-fi addicts whose lives are unbelievably empty, which is why they are in dire need of satisfying their high-school crushes by slapping "Scientologist" next to their cheap names, giving them something to talk about over a cold breakfast at Costa Coffee in intentionally loud baritone voices, which might grab the attention of college chicks who will eventually ask them to shut up, stop using nonsensical words to say the simplest, yet meaningless things and chug down their food before they use their heels to gouge out the eyes of these pretentious pranksters.

See what I did there? I was being unnecessarily violent and wordy, just like you're unnecessarily standing on stage yelling for the spotlight in order to reveal your eternal love for an untalented pseudo-ambitious kid. SDFCXVSDFDSF: That is the sound of rest of the world not caring. GUFFAW: That is the word used to describe the reaction people have while reading or hearing about this staged affair because you're as transparent as your average Paris Hilton outfit.

Just when the press seems to get enough of you, you propose on top of the Eiffel Tower, making you that straight-haired, LJ-owning rich daddy's girl with a ridiculously small cell phone who ran back home from prom, weeping because she didn't get to wear the glittery tiara, only to stop in the middle of the road, grinning like a flabby ass because she realized that the fake plastic glitter shit could've messed up her hair.

You're gullible as hell, you're being mocked by everyone including the pitiful Tara Reid, and you're getting old. In a matter of years, asking an army of maids to feed the dogs and come clean their piss off of the sofa will be the only thing that makes you think as if it's still essential to wake up in the morning.

ES

Parker Posey

2005-06-17T17:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Parker Posey,

Purposely no talk? No time? Missed calls? We have history. Like our special on Judge Judy, whom I saw today mouthing "vertically challenged" to her husband while some witless brunette showered her with salty tears. The harsh sun reflecting on half of her dumb face made it look as if sardines were swimming in her tears.

I mean, think about it. First you didn't return my calls, then you poison my pet tortoise, then you daub obscene caricatures of me on the toilet wall in our local Indian Restaurant. A girl can only take so much, you know? (Abuse, not curry.)

I still dig you. Let's do lunch.

Reese Witherspoon

2005-06-17T17:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Reese Witherspoon/fork/shovel,

I bumped into Jeffery Dahmer and his little Asian victim. We talked Santa shoes until he did one of those "well... we were just about to leave" exits which reminded me why I hate him. He ruined my whole life.

Are you not an actress anymore? I think maybe you should start drinking soy milk while walking around barefoot.

I have a really bad temper that makes me want to dismantle your car with a frozen otter.

It's about here right now.
I have to bring it down to about here.

Penelope Cruz

2005-06-07T14:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Penelope Cruz,

I have been staring at the blinking cursor on my screen for well over 10 minutes before I nodded off to sleep to start a daydream that included me, James Joyce, and a canoe. We spent 3 hours paddling downstream. It was actually kind of nice. That is, until a fallen tree got in our way and tipped the canoe. I bruised all over from trying to save the canoe from a long trip downstream, and hurt my back in the process. Damn canoes, heavier than Rosie O Donnell’s face.

I woke up in an internet cafe hobbling around clinging to furniture trying to go through the day without seeming helpless, before I realized that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my body. I froze in a yoga position knowing that my face is changing into different shades of red before some fat lady grabbed my arm and asked if I needed a wheelchair. I told her that my toenails are too long and they're digging the shit out of my feet.

Anyways, so a week ago’s daydream revolved around Jennifer Garner. I was in her apartment playing with her chinchilla while listening to cars crash from the 19th floor of her building. Jen told me to come by more often, but we really wouldn't have anything to talk about as our conversations are based on who we've seen in the past few months and how terrible they look now. I don't have enough dirt to yap about if I saw her weekly.

Blah. What have you been up to? Your ex man’s been macking it out with Katie Holmes then, eh? Don’t worry, I don’t like her either. She looks like a horse that’s been run over by an ugly cart, and Tom is a waste of carbon molecules. His time on this Earth would be better spent serving as fertilizer on a pig farm.

Yours,
ES

Milla Jovovich

2005-06-06T03:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Milla Jovovich,

I regret to inform you that your albino squirrel has been missing for three weeks and is presumed to have been killed while driving.

I'm thinking this is good news. Squirrels scare me, they're violently twitchy, like they have Parkinson's disease or something. The squirrels on my campus have somehow managed to become domesticated. They run up to unwitting passerbys and demand nuts. But, when you throw one at them, they get angry and call the rest of their mobster squirrel friends to teach you a lesson. Then, you're stuck trying to figure out which one is 'Carlo' and which one is 'Guido.' SQUIRRELS ALUMNI TO REUNITE.

You know what sucks? Folding laundry. Which is why I have a big pile of clothes and sheets by my feet, unfolded. Maybe I'll find a poor orphan child to come fold my laundry. I'll give the littler sucker a quarter and like a banana or something per load. I'm thinking I could hire a whole squad of these orphans to do my cooking and cleaning as well. It's not so much of a sweatshop as much as it is giving kids a purpose in life. A purpose to serve me for dramatically less than minumum wage and a banana. Kids love bananas. They're like monkeys. Monkeys with no one who loves them. Even Jesus hates orphans.

Always and forever,
E to tha' bitchin' S

Lindsay Lohan

2005-05-15T12:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

I don’t know why you dwell into some illegal activity to up the stakes and throw some danger into your humdrum days. You should realize that the most illegal thing you can bring yourself to do is loiter outside of Dairy Queen or heaven forbid you actually litter.

I fell asleep reading a Newsweek article about girl-on-girl violence, and I dreamt of you and a steamed chola bringing it on after school. "Gal, yous be fuckin' crazies. Don't ye juzt sit there and stare at me as if ye'r Greta van Sustren, go choke on a muffin or some goddamned thing" and then proceed to push you against the wall with a chainsaw arm.

I don't know why you find it necessary to fight with the laughable Hilary Duff over boys. Duff looks like an airbag, and you just look like one of those rope-skipping prostitutes who's been captured during the Balkans, beaten viciously with chains by gangs of traffickers, smuggled into the Middle East and then denied a proper Visa.

It sucks that you guys refuse to be friends with anyone slightly overweight. Don't deny that, we've all seen the clans you choose to "run" with. You pick on fat people as often as the weed-chewing yokels pick on their moustached Mexican farmers, I just wish that whenever you choose to point and make a hideous shallow remark, the fat rolls on their temples would roll down and cover their ears so they couldn't hear you and be hurt.

I hope you grow up to be a flabby grandmother with Alzheimer's who's in a lesbian relationship that she's not aware of.

ES

Laura Flyn Boyle

2005-05-07T13:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Laura,

What were you thinking? I just so happened to turn into the Golden Globes rerun tonight, and what do I see? I see a vision of pink tutu's dancing on stage. No, I was not hallucinating, it was no one but you, Laura.

Now, I know what you were going for there. I know how many people who go to these events think it's "cool" to go with a theme. But what is so cool about ballerinas? I saw you waddle out on stage in your bouncy pink tutu and lacey high heels. Ballerinas don't wear high heels, Laura! They don't! If they did, they would fall! And falling hard is precisely what you did! Mwahah.

Okay, now I know you think you're swell and all, after you appeared on that Jackass 'The Movie' special, but you're not. In fact, I have no idea who you are besides that awful part in Men in Black 2. Why didn't you dress as an alien instead? You can't pull off being a ballerina. Thank God you didn't do that in high school, or you would be labeled as Kristi Walton.

So you're thinking "I'm not cool, and I'm no goddamned ballerina", then what was your inspiration for wearing such an outfit? Were you listening to too much Bjork? I hear that happens sometimes. But you know what, Laura? Bjork can pull off the tutu, and pull it off well. But you look like table cloth held together with Christmas shit.

I recall seeing someone who looks like you in some concert a while back. The show wasn't as boring and ska-terrible as I had anticipated and feared. At least the fat kid with the green mohawk kept me entertained. I think he stabbed me in the face four times and fell on me once... but that's okay, because he's a fat kid with a green mohawk.

Doug Stanhope

2005-05-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Doug Stanhope,

Explanations or no explanations, Arab jokes are not and will never be funny. Just because you weren't paying attention the last time most of these jokes were done doesn't make it okay for you to repeat the process and waste my time. Jokes are only offensive when they’re dumb, so these jokes are offensive enough for me to scream myself to sleep every night. It gives me a massive headache, that every time I open my mouth it’s as if my voice slams against my skull and my brain concusses.

Are all comedians like you? I think I saw Letterman the other day. He had that whiny voice and a nice car and I bet he went by 'David'. He was walking so fast that he didn't even look back when I said "David?”. I bet if he did he would give me the 'I'm-going-to-kill-you-where-you-stand' eyes. I get these a lot. Especially when I whip out my passport.

I’d seriously hate you if the rest of your jokes weren’t so funny. I could probably kick your ass right now and actually mean it, but maybe that’s just because I have this horrible flu that makes me angry. I was trying to sleep and I saw some of the Animals from Animal Crossing driving around in bumper cars floating around my head. I swatted at them but they were able to avoid my hands. Then they started talking and I told them to shut up, but they didn't. I wasn’t able to wake up for class the next day, thanks to these bastards.

Anyways, you’re rich. Buy me the $300 X-Files box set, I can’t afford it. I can’t afford anything right now. Even bread is out of my price range. This is because attending college costs like a billion trillion CHFs a year, and that’s just for books. Personally, I don’t think it’s worth it. College won’t change the fact that I’ll end up with a cheap vomit-inducing job.

Gosh. That makes me feel miserable. In fact, I’m slitting my wrists as we speak. Well, I kind of just draw scrabble in them and play against myself. After a few moves I start to get dizzy, though. Maybe I’m supposed to cut vertical, and not across? Suicide is such a headache. I remember when I was in the 8th grade, my bully beat me up so bad that I tried to kill myself by eating a whole bag of popcorn kernels then lying under a sun-bed. I stopped trying shortly after that because I wanted to live long enough to watch the 2nd season of 'Wishbone'. Good times.

ES

Zack Morris

2005-02-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Zach,

Oh, how I love thee. You're like a rainbow after a long windy rainstorm, or like the feeling I get after extracting a huge ass booger from my nose, which I then come to realize was the reason for my breathing difficulties. We're meant to be.

Recently though, it has been brought to my attention that you've been running around behind my back with that hussy, Kelly Kapowski. How I'd like to Kapowski her. I hope you realize what a dirty dirty ho she is. She's a cheerleader. She has seven trillion siblings. Her jeans are tight enough to cause yeast infection. If her middle name was Kerpatrick, her initials would be KKK. Just a coincidence? I think not. Word on the street is she's the town tricycle. All the new kids on the block want a ride. But you must stand tough Zach. You've got the right stuff.

I've been talking to AC. We think you're problems stem from your past. You, Mikey, Ms. Bliss. I know how it feels to lose people. After Richard Simmons left me for Jenny Craig, I cried for days. Instead of the sweet music of Sweatin' to the Oldies, I only heard the cold hard crackling of the sour cream and chedder bag my hand was consumed in. It seemed Richey was all that, but not a bag of potato chips.

Remember that time when you got stuck in the elevator with Tori and Mrs. Belding, and Mrs. Belding was pregnant and started to give birth while you were trapped by the earthquake? I do. I was waiting for you at The Max, chocolate milkshake with two straws awaiting your arrival. Only, you never came. You never came. But I never once opened my mouth about the situation, even with your fetish for pregnant women. Oh, how I knew.

So now you're in college. Big time now, eh? Slater tells me you're rooming with 3 other girls. What's up with that? I'm sorry my family spends all its money on my college, and I have to sell my body to afford living in a dormitory. Do you think I've dreamed about this as a young girl? So... what if I did. That's not the point. The point is, you don't appreciate me anymore. I feel like I'm Lisa and you're my Screech.

Zach, I just don't think I can go on like this anymore. Your perfect blond hair and cell phones, and "time outs" no longer keep me interested.

I hope our days at Bayside are ones of joy for you. I hope through all of this you take on with you the one thing I've learned: It's alright, because I'm saved by the bell.

God bless,
ES

Richard Simmons

2005-02-19T12:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Richard Simmons,

Monica Lewinky's life is over. Day after day she prays to god that she sheds at least the majority of a pound, but, as life goes, she's unable to live up to her resolutions. Resolutions cost nothing, but reward you everything, you tell her at nights while forcing her to do only 3 more sit-ups. I on the other hand, disagree with you Richard. That is right, DISAGREE. It’s seems she has in fact paid for this resolution. She has given you her determination, her motivation, and even her anti-procrastination....not to mention the $50 an hour personal training fee. You see dear Richey, you’ve brought her nothing but tears, sore muscles, and hunger. She is not hungry for life, she's hungry for a large poorly designed wedding cake and a coke.

That’s right, coke, none of that "diet coke". Whoever heard of, "diet coke"? Everyone knows it’s a fictitious drink you made up yourself just to make us think we’re being hot and sexy like the coke a cola advertisements say we are. Carbon and coloring, did you think we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?

But your diet coke isn’t why I’m writing you dead friend. It seems, our time has come, quite like your popularity among fat women. You see, Monica wouldn't talk to me or invite me to America ever since I recommended you to her.

"Where did this sudden change of mind come from?" you ask. Well, I’ll tell you Rich. The other day, while we were walking through the streets of her hometown, we passed by, yes I’m afraid, a pastry shop. As you know, pastries have been Monica's weakness from the start. Before, your voice would pop into my head, so I tell her that she is strong, and that she is all woman, and she can survive. This usually followed by a popular oldies hit such as, "It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to". But not that day. We walked inside the delicious bakery and I watched her sunk her teeth into the fattiest, creamiest, most chocolate covered pastry she could get. It was wonderful. It was pure ecstasy. You could never give her what that pastry did. Ever.

And so it comes to this. No more sweating to the oldies, no heart mending cries between Monica and I, and the 12 other viewers of your late night paid programming, no more red frizzy hair and homosexual yelling. She's leaving, and this time it is for good.

I've got two words for you: Jenny Craig (That's right, it's a she). Monica and Jenny have been working together on a new diet plan, and already she can feel the difference. Her sassy little step-aerobics programs to Pink have made her a more fit person than she was with you. I only pray that one day you’ll be able to drop the Aretha Franklin and get with the times as well. It’s not so bad. Britney is like the sunshine of our days. She even offered to be our slave or some such wank.

And so it finally ends. Imagine how many times you have heard "It’s not you, it’s us. We changed, and just couldn’t take you along with us. Our lives will forever be changed because of you, and I hope that you never forget us." I want to get fat, so I can register and treat you like the King you really are. Because I’m nothing without you. Well, that’s not true. Last time we left you I became a spawn of Satan and me and Christina Agualafehsabfla starred in a Welcome Back Kotter Reunion. John Travolta didn’t even show up. I think it was his recent weight problem, causing him to gain about 400 pounds, deeming him unable to fit through doorways."

I hope your life sucks now that we're gone. I hope you marry Sally Field and have heaps of flipper babies.

Love Always,
ES

Evanesence

2005-02-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Evanesence,

Tell me about the person you wish to drain the blood of/GOTH VAMPYRE WIKKAWIKKAWIKKA.

No really. It's amazing how many people react in such a strong way to your stupid redundant songs about suicide. You punk Goth idiots write an entire album full of idle suicide threats like its some sort of fashion accessory. Whoever you are and however grand, I find you to be terminally boring and I only listen to your songs when I need a good laugh. Sad. Certainly life has more to offer you than this witless existence.

Here's some piece of advice – Life sucks, but there are many cheap and effective ways to achieve death. A bottle of aspirin will cost you around 7 U.S dollars if not less, and with some all natural tap water, you're good to go. But if you're looking to budget, a quick jump into oncoming traffic usually does the trick.

ES

Michael Jackson

2005-02-02T02:04:00.000-08:00

May be offensive if you are an asshole. Or a jew.

Dear Michael Jackson,

You know, I haven't heard from you in quite a while now. Maybe you're ducking the media these days. Finally, you're learning that the public is not your friend, and hiding behind hankerchiefs and dangling babies is not as effective as you had previously suspected. No need to feel embarresed, I feel it for you. Honestly, what makes Germans so different that holding a baby outside a window would excite them any more than other people? I'm sure it reminds them of their Berlin Wall days, but, I'm not sure it's something they want to be reminded of.

A lot of people deny that you're capable of doing such things you are being charged with. "He's a child himself, how does he have the mentality to do such things to other children." 3 words honey. Let's play doctor. Don't deny it, as a child we all ran around trying to kiss all the other little children on the playground, and heaven forbid you leave two of the little bastards alone together. Next thing you know your precious little boy is looking up the neighbor girl's dress wondering what the hell is wrong with her. However, that is acceptable at five or six. At 40 it's getting kind of ... Jeffery Dahmer.

I'm wondering how much you had to pay Lisa Marie to marry you. Eww, and to kiss you on television. Michael, those were the worst 17 seconds of my life. Watching you up their with your wife, actually doing something that normal couples do. It was gross. "Eveyone said it wouldn't last." Oh yeah. Because it sure did last. About a week after that kiss. I bet Lisa Marie saw the reruns on MTV and was all "Holy mother of crap, what am I doing? I married a plastic Wayne Newton reconstructive surgery wannabe." Either that or she realized you were actually black. Now, I'm not the type to be racist, but honestly, it is quite a shock to realize that you used to be black. I mean, you got rid of the dark skin, the afro, the cool 70's slang only Shaft could pull off. Are you ashamed michael? I would be too knowing that I headed the Jackson 5. Honestly, family sing along groups so was over with the Osmonds. Who were indeed white by the way.

I saw that 5 hour movie on you. Or rather your whole family. Your dad was such a bitch. I would probably molest children too if I were you. But I'm not, so I don't, because it's dirty and cheap, and I hope you burn in hell for it. Speaking of burning, remember that Pepsi ad you did and your afro caught on fire and you were rushed to the hospital for like, 3rd degree burns or some shit. Oh man, I coulnd't stop laughing when I heard about that. Too much afro grease? That's what the buisness does to you. And God when you molest children.

So like, I have no pity for you. If in fact you are innocent, even though it is your second time of being convicted, you're still pretty damn creepy. I mean, it takes a creepy person for people to think, "Oh, well, that's no surprise" when it's come out that the white man's pullin you down for child molestation. Again.

I hope you go to jail. And that in jail you find Jesus, and realize your faith relies in the Torah. No particular reason, but hilarity would ensue.

ES

Kylie Minogue

2005-02-01T13:07:00.000-08:00

Dear Kylie Minogue,

Your songs are ace. I spend hours in my room dancing around to them pretending I’m in your videos. Except I don’t do the whole stiletto shoes with raver pants. I would if I were you though, because apparently you can do anything. You even sang the locomotion. I loved that song way back when. I was like, 5.

One time I was in the car and Can’t get you out of my head was on the radio. I continued to sing it for the rest of the day. Is that your idea of irony? To get a really irritating yet catchy song in your head and the title is as such? I bet it was. You're neat like that.

Your lips are .. wow. I’ve been chewing my lips my entire life. I’ve probably chewed off well over a metric ton of skin from my lower lip. I’ve spent more time in my life biting my lip than not biting my lip. Yet my lips are not nearly as pink as yours.

Your lips could also beat the pants off Angelina Jolie’s. Hers are fat. And her British accent sucks. I watched Tomb Raider. As an expert game player, I can safely say that she is no Laura Croft. However, your accent is brilliant. I wish you would sit and talk to me all day. With the lips and the accent and the ''la la la''. You're as cute as a button.

I want to be you. Once I was in the airport, and one of the armed security guys ordered me to wait in a room for questioning. I asked him ''Why do you wear camouflaged suits? You're indoor. You're not behind plants or anything", and he looked at me and said “Who do you think you are, Kylie Minogue?” And I answered, “Well, yes, actually, I do sometimes,” And Kylie, I can’t even tell you how often sometimes is.

SATs

2005-01-31T05:58:00.000-08:00

Dear SAT exam,

If you were a person, I would drill holes all over your body and say "Now fill in the circles, bitch."

You do nothing but make me feel like it's too embarrassing to live anymore. Because of you, I can not wait for the sun to become a red giant and swallow the Earth. You think you are so clever that you are named SAT and students must take you on Saturdays, but I believe that is very unfunny. I'll have you know that every question you ask is pointless. I do not know what the square root of 709845 is, nor do I care. I could use my non-graphing calculator, but do you really expect me to carry this calculator through life? No SAT. I give YOU a 1600. 1600 venereal diseases.

I would have aced you if I wasn't writing the exam while listening to our college counsellor talk about how our future depends on this one exam and then constantly distracting us by talking about something completely random like how she was actually force-fed peanut butter by fat old men when she was younger and how she thought she’d lose weight if she ate with her nostrils rather than her mouth, and she only liked eating the carbonation from caffeineated products. It fizzed away half her mind.

This is going to be harsh, my friend, and I rarely ever say this, but: You deserve to die. With rusty sharp things sticking out of your head and electric wires attached to your ass shocking you a 1000 times a second. I would do it myself but, unfortunately, I'm way too lazy to kill people. It's useless trying, because they would probably take a good look at me and figure ''Damn, the girl can't even comb her hair, what sort of threat is she?''

In sum: I would rather take a live rabbit, feed it morphine until it passes out, devour it whole and start rolling on the floor until it wakes up in my stomach and starts eating me inside out while I'm still alive than have to sit through you ever again in my entire life.

ES

Avril Lavigne

2005-01-30T06:42:00.000-08:00

Punk rawk baby. I don’t believe I’ve ever had to listen to a Canadian that many times in one day. Nickleback? You suggest. No. They haven’t tortured my soul half as much as Miss teen anti-pop has. She always has to make things complicated with her talk of Sk8er Bois and losing her grip and other such teenage angst that no one really cares about. Go back to grade school and learn the basics you straight haired freak.

Dear Avril,

Why?

This is the question I must ask myself every time I am given the oh so splendid pleasure of hearing your voice grate against my ears. Your voice really isn’t that nice. Your music as well. Overall Avril, you kind of suck. And by kind of, I mean really.

Let’s start back at your first song. Complicated. Or something. So you write a song about a boy making your life so complicated. If you were 12, I would think it was cute. If you were 14, just maybe I’d sigh and so, “Oh, she’s only 14”. But at 18? Honestly, that's just not going to work.

You’re Canadian. Of course life if going to be complicated. You’re not even sure whether to speak French or English. So you get confused and say things like, Aboot, and Eh. Actually Avril, I’m just joshin, I say Eh too. Eh? I still hate you.

Sk8ter Boi. I don’t like you. Mainly because of this. Just because you're dumb and Canadian doesn’t mean you can change words around like you’re the Catholic Church. Languages don’t bend for Avril, and neither do gay men at the local big gay bar, because you ain’t no diva hunny. I bet Madonna can change words. She can pretend she has an English accent, sure should could make up another whole language. I bet people in her language would all only have one name. Surnames? I think not. Madonna looks better as a blond, not a brunette. What do you think Avril? Oh wait, I forgot, I don’t really care.

So I then heard you put out a slow song. Trying to seduce all the sk8er bois via MTV? It so happens I first heard this song while watching MTV. I was all, “Oh for the love of ... urgh, it's her again.” Then some american pop idol star famous person came on and introduced your video. I was awww, I should change the channel. And I tell you Avril, I so was going to. Only I realized that the remote to the TV was out of arms reach, and I mean, do you really expect me to move? I didn’t think so.

So here I am Avril, watching your video. Again, I ask myself the eternal question. Why? Why would you write such a song. Why would you make such a video. Why do I feel such discomfort when listening to you?

Then it hit me.

Avril, you are the cause of AIDS.

Don’t deny your fate. I once heard the AIDS epidemic started in the 80’s. If I’m not mistaken Avril, with your age, the date, and the simple math of subtraction, you too started in the 80’s. So, let’s do some investigating, I tell myself. Look at your last name. Lavigne. If we shorten that, it would be, Lav, or as I like to put it, La V. In French that’s translated as… The V. So you would then be known as, The V. But you know, The V is to pretentious of you, it’s too Madonna. So of course you would shorten your name to just V. So you’re born, and people start calling you V. When people see you, what’s the first thing they say? Hi V. Or, as we in happy STD land like to say, HIV.

Avril, I know it hurts, but it’s just something I have to do. I’ve been trying to break this to you for so long, but it’s just not getting through to you. I have a mild dislike for you. No, hush, I know you must feel pain. Why do I have to make things so complicated? You ask. Because, there are many more sk8er singers in the sea, and I’m pushing you overboard.

It’s alright, I guess. Life goes on and so does Celine Dion. She’s Canadian too you know. Maybe you should visit. Make friends. She can teach you to tie your shoelaces or something. Grand.

ES

Brooke Shields

2005-01-29T15:51:00.000-08:00

Dear Brooke Shields,

I’m being bombarded with pop-ups urging me to buy a blanket that will help sanitize at least 3 African children. Will I do it, I hear you ask? Online donations go to Nazi operations. That has been well established by now.

Speaking of Nazi operations, I got a new phone from Radio Shack. It's so pimp. I want to hold it in one hand and a bourbon cigerette in the other and wait for the DJ to chickceeehchckeeehchekee ma' song.

The first thing I wanted to do was call you to say congratulations on the new hair, but according to the slightly cross-eyed yellow-skinned guy, the company doesn't have international calling yet. Damn that man. Up against the wall motha'.

Are you doing okay? I heard about your dysfunctional family. Normal. It's not like the rest of us get together in a friendly Hare Krishna circle riverdancing to celtic songs. Hell, I have an empty shell of a family who don't like to stand that close to each other, but we still manage to live under the same rusty roof.

That reminds me, my aunt is dying... or dead... something. In other news, it's haunted house season and I'm very jolly about that.

I must go apply for a summer job and the damned temperature is turning my fingernails purple, but there's a position to be filled.

Qualifications: be contempt to sit quietly and occasionally discuss the obvious.

That'll land me the status of 'Employee of the Freakin' Ever', no? Call me sometime and I'll pick up if I'm in the mood to give a shit. Be good take care yadyaydyadyayda.

ES

Jennifer Anniston

2005-01-28T05:58:00.000-08:00

You have large amounts of money. I know this. You know this. The world knows this. I think that you should give this money to me. Because you don’t deserve it. And I don't like Friends. After Chandler got fat and Rachel got pregnant, it got dumb. Kind of like you. So keep vacationing in the islands and bleaching your hair. May I recommend using battery acid and leaving it on until it has dissolved your useless brain?

ES

Janeane Garofalo

2004-12-03T15:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Janeane Garofalo,

I dreamt that I went to a party with Hilary Clinton. Dinner party. You weren’t invited of course. Because apparently she doesn’t like you. Hilary and I laughed up about your need to alphabetize spice racks and your non-existent fan club. I have a fan club you know. It’s called China.

I’ve been thinking lately. And I’ve come to the conclusion that your funny isn’t that funny. I only laugh at your jokes so you’ll feel better about your abnormally large elbows. Yes, we have noticed. You can’t cover them up by hanging the members of Pantera around your waist. It just makes your hips look sharp. Sharp like Al Sharpton.

Are you surprised that Rob Cohen left you? I'm not. I think he would rather eat a date than have another one with you. You always have to be breaking up with someone. Breaking up like a cell phone through an underground tunnel. I heard you had the biggest crush on Ben Stiller, but you blew it. You made him want to go homicidal on himself. Seriously, how many men have to suffer?

Now you can weep and complain about how all of them are heartless jerks. Maybe you should register on match.com and woo all the depressed unemployed lonely guys by instant messaging them and being like “.. ‘Sup, wanna e-date? Cuz I’d walk 3892 miles to be with you, omg lol” You could be the next Vanessa Carlton. I’ve got the Piano warming up in the driveway as we speak.

So, I hope you like, don’t die and stuff. I don’t despise you THAT much. Maybe a short trip down a flight of stairs, or a really bad hair day. Like the one you had in that movie where you played the callous lady, it looked like the matted fur of a rabbit that was routinely dipped in its own urine before being dragged around backwards. Stop acting as if you’re not miserable for once in your sad empty life, you’re about as convincing in your spin as your current president. Actually, much less so, seeing as half your country was rallying behind him.

Ummmm.

I don’t want to say anything else to you, this letter is actually giving me a headache. I think cockroaches crawled into my ear and are nesting in my brain. You are going to pay for this.

ES

Paris Hilton

2004-11-26T05:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Paris Hilton,

I often have trouble watching your show, because I'm distracted by staring at the abnormality that is your head. It’s freakishly round. I suggest you try a different haircut, maybe frame your face a bit better. If all else fails, I can take a bat to level out the sides of your face.

ES

Goldie Hawn

2004-11-12T15:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Goldie Hawn,

You're old. If you inject anymore collagen into your lips, they will swell over your face and suffocate you. On the other hand, that sounds like a great idea. I never thought I would see the day when your own kid would overshadow your footsteps. Tell Kate I said hi. And stop writing books about why women are strong. You’re not exactly Toni Morrison. “Women are a lot like God, we give birth, we create! And when we create, we raise! Like God raises the Universe and its planets, such as planet Earth, Jupiter, Pluto, the Sun and Wisconsin! Women can end racism, terrorism, and all the other problems in the world if we all just stop men from hating each other! Wow! Come on ladies, let’s all get together and stop the bloody war against Iraq, Iran, and Enron!”

My primary school teacher had a framed picture of you in our classroom, way back in the days when money was money and you could hear the words in songs. He was the identical twin, and I mean, literally, absolutely freakily facially the same as Alice Cooper. I couldn’t sleep at night because I dreamt of him eating someone’s fetus and being like “This is boring. I want to eat grown children - 7,8,9 year olds, I want to eat them all! I’m just so hungry!” He wasn’t half as creepy as you are, though. You’re gross. You look like trailer trash left over after the tornado.

And need to stop smiling so much. You’re dumb and can hardly talk, that’s nothing to smile about. Life isn’t candy and rainbows so don’t infect anyone with your happy-hippy-hug-the-world disease. You nut.

ES

David Spade

2004-10-23T15:02:00.000-07:00

Dear David Spade,

You should stop running away and face your fate. Chris Farley is dead. Any movie you make now will be and in fact is, a failure. Don't blame me because you look like an ugly woman, that's not my fault. God made you that way.

ES

John Kerry

2004-10-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

Dear John Kerry,

I’m drinking mango flavoured Snapple right now. I don’t even like mango flavoured Snapple. In fact, I don’t like many mango flavoured things. Makes me all sticky like. I don’t really know what that means. The fact is, I’m breaking up with you.

Shh. Don’t be silly. Throwing tantrums and carrying about won’t get you anywhere. I know, I’ve been there. Remember that time when you left me for a week to go spend it with that heartless nerd. What’s her name again? Teresa. What a fool. I hope you two are happy together. I hope you make lots of more babies. And really ugly ones at that.

Last night I was writing a letter to Kylie Minogue, asking for advice. I thought maybe I’d try. I’ll locomote my way down to the nearest city and pick myself up a real politician. A man who can appreciate my need to line up prescription pill bottles in my medicine cabinet. A man who can understand where I’m coming from. Really. I’m not sure who, I wish someone would tell me. I’m thinking John Edwards.

I have John Edwards as my desktop.

You know, Kerry, you never call back anymore. Every time I ring you up I get your stupid voice on the goddamned machine “I’m sorry. The person you are calling is DEAD. Hehe no for real this is John, I’m not around so leave a spiffy message and vote for me”. You’ve never been too busy for me before. Now you’re always working, and you’re not even good at what you do. You said something in your speech last month that confused me, about how you need to build your alliances so they will help you fight against Iraq and similar situations, and how no country would ever have "veto power over American decisions."

That means that if you were president at the time, you could have made Germany, France, et al side with you on the Iraqi war. You think that these countries didn't just because they didn't like Bush? How absurd. You’re saying that if America decides to invade and bomb civilians of a defenseless third world country again, you won't call off the plan merely because other states vote against it and refuse to help. How is that different from what Bush did? That’s Bush’s policy right there.

This is not the Kerry I fell in love with. What happened to you? It’s times like these where I wish Eddie Maguire would appear and offer three lifelines but chances are that if he did appear, I would feel the need to staple things to his smug head.I only realized how dim-witted you are after you proved your idiocy by writing such a laughable speech. It is about as logical and predictable as the metastasis of cancer cells. It causes mass depression. I've seen ten year olds try to slit their wrists after watching you read it. Of course they do it the wrong way, so most live, except for the over-achievers who just cut their hands off.

No one enjoys listening to the mangled ranting of some wannabe president. It was quite comical at first. Now watching you spew out the same insipid promises to America is about as entertaining as slowly prodding a dead dog with a stick.

Your promises mean nothing to me. I know this because we never did get married in a giant cabbage like you always said we would. I get so hurt when I see you with Teresa. It feels like my lungs will explode through my ribcage. You’re not even as beautiful as I made you out to be. In fact, you look like you stuck your head in an electric volt and then asked some pregnant cow to kindly give birth on your face.

Remember that time you told me you were going to marry her, and I ran away, and then you didn’t show up at my UNICEF party, and then I ran to the restaurant you were dining at with said wife and I took you out into the rain and we kissed and the music swelled? Yeah, I don’t. Do you know why? That wasn’t us, that was Great Expectations with Ethan Hawke and Gwyneth Paltrow.

But remember that one other time, when I came to visit you, and was detained for 12 hours in the airport because I’m an Arab-Muslim, and when you picked me up I yelled “I hate America!”, but you thought I said "I ache to marry ya", and you chastised me in a Christian fashion for propositioning a married man? That hurt. You know, I don't really hate America, but I hear they capture foreigners and turn them into Happy Meals.

Kerry, I've had it with you. I can't believe I spent all this time thinking that we actually had a bright future together. You’ve hardly done anything since you entered the human race other than become graduate no.42,5167 of some prestigious college. You contribute nothing to this world except crap and gas.

I’m sure it will work out for the best if we don’t remain friends. I mean, couples always promise they won’t stay in touch and it becomes awkward and then… just craziness ensues. Kind of like the end of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. It’s a good ending. You should see it.

Yours (Except not after this letter, because I’m breaking up with you, therefore making me without you, and no longer yours),
ES