dear jessica simpson,
dont be sad that youre divorcing nick. you know what i say about boybanders: kiss em but dont marry em.
you dont see my girl anna k marrying enrique do you?
no, and thats cuz gay boyfriends are fun, but gay husbands arent so fun. they want you to clean up around the house, they want to play dress up when you want to be in sweats, and they end up just breaking yr heart babydoll so dont blame yourself, blame nature.
now the good book says a lot of things about married women and divorce and technically i cant really marry you since youre always going to be married in the eyes of the Lord to nick.
but we dont have to get married. and to be honest, youre so fucking hot we dont even have to get it on. and from what i could gleen from your tv show it didnt seem like you were that into getting it on anyways.
so heres what i propose. i propose that you move into my hollywood bachelor pad and be my girlfriend. if you wanna buy a dog you can buy a dog. if you wanna call tuna chicken you can call that shit chicken and you know what i'll do, i'll say baby i love you. thats what i'll say.
you know who tells someone as sweet and as hot as you that youre wrong and ditzy? xhusbands.
youre perfect. and you look good in uggs. you sing like youre having sex and i cant name one song of yours but you can sing em all around the house and i'll just say louder baby louder.
and then we'll get some food delivered and heres another thing, i will never interrupt our days or nights by watching college hoops and calling my buddies on the phone in the middle of the game and say holy shit that was a fucked up call.
what i might do is call them up and say jessica is dressed up as a school girl and shes thinking about buying a new purse.
yes i know im not handsome, but your handsome boy just broke your heart.
yes i know im not buff but people who are constantly making their muscles grow are making up for a muscle that will never grow
i know youre being passed around by the jackass boys but you need to get out of that world cuz dudes who are that nuts about getting their balls shot at by firehoses and aligators dont know how to treat a dainty southern girl whose dreams have been crushed.
what you need is a blogger.
a failed poet.
a very old one who will look at you from across the room and say stand up on that coffee table baby and spin around real slow.
and when you do it he'll say damn girl.
you might even persuade me to move to calabassas, but only if tsar can play in the backyard on new years.
Jessica, girl, you know what to do.