a long time ago, we used to be friends...

Dear Entertainment Industry:

I realize that you're suffering from a lack of truly original material, and therefore have been mining the rich and vast landscape of literature. Good for you.

However, this does not excuse you for:

Reality Shows.

Reality Shows starring people who will then take it into their heads that they are some kind of "celebrity," when they are actually Kato Kaelins.

The cannibalistic nature of biographical/epics especially if said epics are about people I am interested in (ie. the proposed Louise Brooks biopic starring Neve Campbell) and me sputtering, remember Jennifer Love Hewitt's Audrey Hepburn turn?

Clearly, you haven't.

Some figures in life are meant to stay enigmatic silohuettes in history. To me, Louise Brooks is definitely one of them. Why must you add to my bitterness?

Also, may you burn in fiery Survivor hell.

Dear girl in the walkway -

You are deeply attractive, and you have a sashay that defies the world. However, I could also see your butt cleavage, and do you know what this means?

IT MEANS YOUR PANTS ARE TOO FUCKING SMALL FOR YOUR ASS.

Dear Rolling Stone:

You were relevant, once.

Dear Adam Brody,

Why aren't you my bitch yet?

cc'ed to: Orlando Bloom (bitch crossed out, replaced with towel boy), list of other names mysteriously smudged out

Dear librarian at my college reference center,

Of course I love you for your mind.

Dear Sephora.com, Godiva.com, Amazon.com,

Please stop conspiring against me and sending me your pornographic catalogues of richly packaged temptation directly to my hands.

Dear the people who voted for Arnold "the Terminator" Schwartzenegger,

I might have to live here with you, but ----
oh fuck it. I'm writing a real letter.

Dear Best Buy --

Goddammit, where's MY tribute cd?

Dear OC Writers --

Continually piling on the victimoftheweek-ohisn'tmyhairshinyandlookhowdramaticallyi'mbacklighted-shampoo on Marissa doesn't make her interesting or empathetic. It makes her melodramatic and annoying, and frankly, I'd rather see oatmeal curdle.

Oh wait, I AM.

You know what the heart of the show is? THE COHENS. and Ryan. And Anna. And Summer, even. More them! Less Marissa and her magic bag of doom!

Please. You are my foamy latte of primetime indulgence - don't make me bitter. Amy Sherman Palladino has already broken my heart over that other foamy latte show, you're all I have left.

Dear Cinnamon,

this love missive, by rights, shouldn't be attached to the above bile bomb, but I hope you will understand when I must declare my love and adoration for you and your thoughtfulness to the wide and expansive net-world. I received your surprise yesterday, and as with all your presents, they seem to arrive just when I need them.

Mwah!

Dear Cyn,

WORLD TOMINATION!

I miss you.

Dear Fandom-at-large,

the excellent researchminion has a Will Tippin Ficathon that you just know you want to participate in.

Also, good work on making PoTC the best selling live-action movie in history. HAHAHAAHAHAHAHA, I SPIT ALL OVER YOU, JAMES CAMERON!

with love and empathy,
sff.