Friday, October 7, 2011

You Can't Fire Bocephus, He Quits!

Dear Hank Williams Jr.,

Well this is just great.  How am I supposed to know if I'm ready for some football if you're not there to ask me?  But that's just me being selfish.  Sometimes, comparing the President to Hitler has consequences, and I should be grateful that patriots like you are willing to shoulder those consequences.  Look at you, sticking it to the man:

Nice try, freedom oppressors at ESPN.  You thought you fired HWJ, but that's just too bad because he quits!  I guess you'll think again next time you try to take a poop on civil liberties.

You know, HWJ, it would have been nice if you had mentioned other freedom fighters in your family while you had the spotlight.  It's not all about you.  Hank III is out among the people in West Virginia defending the arts.  His cameo in "The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia" has shed light on the the failure of the film to capture the bright side of being a meth addled hillbilly:

Did you hear that, HWJ?  Hank III  has been rubbed raw!  I think we can both agree that nobody wants that.  If you're looking for a cause, now that asking us if we're ready for some football is off the table, I urge  you to stand up for the dying art of drunken mountain clogging.  Solidarity among Hanks is very important. 


So What?  You're famous.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

If the Nip Flees the Dress, You Must Confess!

Dear Nancy Grace,

What is the meaning of this photo?  Posing with pasties will not distract from the issue  Nice try, but you're not fooling me.  I know a nip slip when I see it.  Let the records show that you presented the photo to the left and said the following in response to allegations of your free range nipple:

"Evidence re my alleged 'wardrobe malfunction which I vehemently deny: Breast Petals & industrial strength bra."

The only evidence I see in this photo is a clippie and feathered bangs.  You are guilty on two counts of attempted resurrection of the nineties.  

Regarding the charges related to your indecent exposure, your defense is weak.  I'm no lawyer, but I know bras.  No self respecting "industrial strength bra" would allow things to get this out of hand.  I'm sorry your attention-seeking-nipple doesn't know it's place, but it's time to confess.  


So What?  You're Famous.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Fedoras Don't Cause Winning, FYI.

Dear Charlie Sheen,

Can you point to yourself in the photo below?

No?  What about this one?

I didn't think so.  You are not a founding member of the Brat Pack.  You did not rock a Micky Mouse shirt while wielding a switchblade in The Outsiders.  You did not say, "Two hits.  Me hitting you.  You hitting the floor" to John Bender in The Breakfast Club.  And don't even get me started on St. Elmo's Fire.  In short, Emilio rules and Charlie drools.  Your career is totally eclipsed by your brother's, and this includes the Mighty Ducks trilogy!  Where do you get off claiming all these wins?

Typically, when someone says they're winning, they are referring to some type of competition.  Let's be professional and do a tally:


  • Born Martin Sheen's son (good job!)
  • Hot Shots: Part Deux.


  • You are the third most talented actor in a family of three famous actors.
  • Now that Two and a Half Men is cancelled, you are forever locked in a three-way-tie with Jim Belushi and Reba McEntire for shittiest sitcom loosely based on the personality of an overrated celebrity.  I'm sorry Reba, but seriously, acting is not your thing.
  • You are moderately impressive at abusing substances, but you're not the winner.  Stephen King wrote Cujo while he was blacked out.  Cujo!  Insulting poor Duckie from a script you didn't write while you nurse a hangover does NOT compare.
  • You're pretty crazy, but you're not the craziest.  Paula Abdul out-crazies you on any given day before breakfast.
  • Paying women to hang out with you and calling them your "girlfriends" is just embarrassing.  Playmates, Sheen.  You didn't invent it.

You're just a garden variety asshole.  You do not bleed tiger blood and you are not a drug.  I appreciate your frequent references to warlocks (people just don't do that enough), but the jig is up.  You better call CBS and apologize because you are one bump away from becoming Dr. Drew's next victim.

Thanks for playing,

So What?  You're Famous.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Power of Phil Compels You

Dear Dr. Phil,

Two months ago, if someone asked me what I thought of Dr. Phil, I would give them the prepared statement I keep on hand for just an occasion.  The abbreviated version covers your tendency to behave like a blustering vomit fountain of pop psychology,  your achievement of looking exactly like a human-muppet hybrid and your hair.  It is confounding how the droves of women who tune in every day to your show fail to question a man who sports a pornographic mustache, the ring-of-death male pattern baldness that plagues your head and the high probability that your million dollar shirts cover an ape-like hair suit beneath their buttons.

That was two months ago.  Since that time, one of your drones-my Mom, came to stay in my house for six weeks.  In my weakened state of pregnancy, which prevented me from getting off the couch and leaving the room, she perfectly executed a diabolical plan to indoctrinate me.  In between brownie bites and vats of ice cream, I would scream at the television, "He's profiting from your pain, fools!  How can he help you with your shoplifting addiction?  The only addiction he knows is mock turtlenecks and teeth whitener!"  But she wore me down, Phil.  Like any good missionary, she ignored my yelps of disbelief and continued to expose me to your word against my will.  Slowly, when the bratty teenager rolled her eyes and told her mom to go to hell, I began to cheer for you to slap her face with your wisdom.  When the crackhead admitted his powerlessness against addiction, tears formed when you sent his ass to rehab.  And the final insult, when the camera panned to your ever present wife, waves of nausea were replaced with the warmth of my cold heart.  Now I have only have one question for you.  Do you sell bumper stickers?  I need one for my minivan.


So What?  You're Famous.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Gwyneth is Country Strong!


I regret to inform you that having fringe on your purse does not qualify you for a role as a country music singer.  It's not really your fault.  Thanks to the perpetual shit-show that is Canadian pop music, America was infected by a contagion known as Shania Twain.  Somehow we forgot that real country music starlets always have one foot in the trailer (or shanty- I love you Dolly!).  No Gwyneth, your movie set trailers do not count.  The real women of country music have big, unmanageable hair and a proclivity to fighting over worthless men.  They're comfortable in the worst bars, they shoot whiskey and 95% of the time there is a direct correlation between the size of their busts and the immensity of their their talent.  Where's the common ground, Gwyneth?  Vineyards?  No.  Macrobiotic diets?  No.  Private schools in NYC?  No.  Shitting money from birth forward?  No.  Naming children after fruit?  No, but in all fairness, you're really the only one who does that.

I know it's stifling in the rich wife/country club member/former prom queen box, but it's your destiny.  Angelina Jolie throws knives and drinks blood, and you snub other people while looking bored.  Anything else is just ridiculous.

So What?  You're Famous.

Friday, October 15, 2010

I see London, I see France.....

I see Favre without his pants!

Why the long face Favre?  You didn't come this far in your career by throwing in the towel.  Or wearing the towel.  Or wearing pants.  Or wearing underwear.  Don't sweat it.  For every one woman out there who does not appreciate the gift of a grainy cellular photo of your penis, there are millions of us on the internet looking for a laugh.  This was a joke, right?  It has to be, because honestly, the alternative will make me sad.  I don't want to be sad, Favre.  So, please don't tell me you were trying to seduce someone by sending genital pictures. Please don't tell me you looked in the mirror at the body of a professional athlete, and decided a stand-alone wang shot was the way to this poor woman's heart.  You're obviously hip to text slang, so you know what I mean when I say, OMG Favre, WTF?  You're being a real buzz kill right now.  Remember when Cher was doing hair care infomercials for Lori Davis?  That's how sad I am right now.

Please, let me help you, and feel free to pass this wisdom along to any of your phone wielding friends.  If a woman declines your advances, she definitely will not be swayed by creepy photos of your private parts.  It's kind of a rule.  Another rule to remember is that NO ONE is going to keep a nude photo of their celebrity stalker to themselves.  You are free to be a stalker (but it's ill advised and illegal).  You are free to be a celebrity.  You are free to broadcast your nudity to any adult who has the misfortune of being in your address book.  However, these things should NEVER be done together.

So What?  You're Famous.

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Monday, September 13, 2010

U 2 R Totally Doing It

Dear Lovers,

It's not that I don't applaud you both on many, many levels.  Palin, you have a command of Twitter shorthand that rivals any cheerleader in the nation.  And Beck, what can I say?  Just last month, you took back The Civil Rights Movement and restored it to it's rightful owners, pudgy white people in patriotic tee-shirts.  Hooray for restoring decency!

But OMG, I just can't get over what a cute couple you two would make!  You don't have to make those faces at me, it's just a little hypothetical tryst.  I would never question your family values.  However, there is a certain chemistry between you two.  It's about as sexy as O'Reilly and his falafel, but it's still chemistry.

 Some people might say Beck would be out of his league if he hunted Mama Grizzly, and that the thought of  his fleshy face coming in for a kiss might make her puke.  I think this is debatable.  Yes, Palin (and 99% of all humans) is more visually appealing than Beck.  Sure, he's an addict and a compulsive crier.  He has a dizzying case of ADHD, indulges violent fantasies about strangling Michael Moore and prays for Dennis Kucinich to burst into flames.  So what?  He drives an Escalade!  Is there a more Palinesque car on the market today?  Nothing says, "Global warming is a myth.  Look at me, I"m famous!" like an Escalade.  

So What?  You're Famous