Fan Letters...kind of.. sort of....okay, not really.

Dear Denise,
Girl you had me. I was SO on your side. I had my little Charlie Sheen voodoo doll and poked it in certain regions that only drag queens know about. But then, you had to pull the the universal "OH NO SHE DIDUNN'T" move. You're dating your best friend's ex-husband. Did you not get the memo when God blessed you with your vagina? YOU DO NOT date your best friend's ex- ANYTHING! Ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-dog, ex-donkey from Tijuana..NOTHING. And to top it off, it's Richie Sambora. Girl. Come on. He was only "mildly" cool back in the 80's when he was Bon Jovi's girlfriend...now I can barely look at him without having to choke down some of last night's cordon bleu. I could probably stomach it better if you had an affair with Heather Locklear herself. Yeah, sure she's had her skin pulled back so many times that a penis is bound to pop up at some point, but damn, anything is better than Richie Samhorrah. Please place your vagina and estrogen on the table and step away. It's been revoked. You're officially something that rhymes with "bunt".. check the next letter after "b" girl.. there you gooooo... yeah, that's you.

Love, Me.


Dear Tom,
Please let Katie go. Look at her. You changed her name to Kate, her nursing bra is showing for all the papparazzi to see and she's wearing flats to make you tall. She's done Tom. That horse has been ridden and beat DOWN. It's time to replace her and I am here to say that I will gladly take her place. Unlike Kate, I will happily put on that beard and strap-on dildo without a flinch. I'll be your Daddy and spank that little million dollar tushie of yours hard, because I know that's how you roll Mr. Cruise... you like your womens to be a bit rough....and scraggly.... with a bit of a mustache to tickle your jigglers... and well.. you actually like your womens to be mens, but I know that's not going to fly on your celeb status. So just send Katie back home and kindly hand me those buttbeads. I'll do the honors Mr. Cruise.

Love, Me.






Dear Usher,
Newsflash: You nasty DAWG. And by DAWG, I mean DOG. woof! Woof! You know.. the kind that Filipinos eat? Yeah. That kind of dog. Ugly bastard.

Love, Me.
















Dear Star Jones,
On paper it probably DID sound like a GREAT idea to go get some gastric bypass surgery and a boob job to up your hotness level huh? I mean, let's face it, as far as hotness goes, you were running neck and neck with Shamu.. and Shamu had the upper hand with all those cute little tricks that she does. But NOW, well well, lookit YOU..you lost you some weight, got some fake boobs.........and yet....somehow....and I don't exactly know how this happened....you turned into the ugliest thing alive. Yeah you're not fat and your boobs are pointing in the right direction but OH MY GOD. What is up with your FACE??? Did all that weight somehow transfer to your EYEBALLS? You're freaking me out Star. At least when you were fat, we could just give you a Ding Dong and you'd shut up for about three seconds while you choked it downed with a cup bacon grease, but now.. I don't know what to make of you. You're a blabby ass bitch and you've turned into E.T's freaky looking aunt. I never thought I'd say this, but please go have a big helping of something fried with cheese on it. Get fat again so those eyeballs will go back into your useless head. It's giving me nightmares.
Oh and your husband's gay.
Tom told me.

Love, Me.

Dear Madonna,
Listen, I know you're mad that I didn't come sniff your crotch at the Coachella concert. It wasn't my fault, I swear. I was standing on my BACKPACK trying to reach you, but alas, it was not meant to be that night. But listen, I had to file for bankruptcy because I'm going to TWO, yes TWO of your concerts and I'm about as close to you as middle class can fuckin' afford okay? I'll be there. So keep your panties on. Meanwhile, can you please have some beers with me after the show? Yeah, I know, I don't drink beer, but I will down a cup of chew spit if I could get you drunk and take advantage of you. Oh I hear you, "Oh but Laine, you're married. Don't you claim to be straight? what about the age difference? What about the restraining order? blah blah blah"
Can't you see I've gone cuckoo for your cone bras?
I love you, you old hag you, with your sinewy muscles and wrinkly hands....
ROWR.

Spank, Me.

***EDIT: Madonna was looking for me........(currently crying and snotting all over myself.....)