Monday, August 15, 2005
oh, courtney. for years i have wanted for you to get your shit together, to make good music, to not be such a ridiculous cunt, to prove that you are a good actress when not playing a strung-out junkie whore, to be a good mom to a kid that had a lot of shit to deal with before she could even say “social services,” to maybe justify why i have had a liking for you for so long. i mean, you were a widow at my age! with a baby! and friends that kept od’ing! you were so outspoken and didn’t give a fuck and just wanted to make art and work out your issues in front of a live studio audience. i usually dress up like you for halloween, mostly because it’s fun to look as totally disgusting and rancid as possible, but that hole t-shirt i wear over my pink babydoll dress and under the craptastic fox-fur-trimmed cream leather belted coat is from 1994, when i thought that you were rad. well, bitch, i think i’m finally over you. quit fucking doing drugs, quit lifting your shirt and skirt like a deranged attention-starved skank, quit selling your dead husband’s legacy, quit beating people up, quit running over to the entertainment tonight microphone when they’re trolling the red carpet at c-list events (yeah, i saw that you were at the american idol finale this year), quit trying to be a celebrity, quit being a los angeles wash-up, quit with the repulsive drag queen plastic surgery, and, most importantly, maybe you should just quit pretending that people ought to like you.