An Open Letter to Tara Reid

Oh, Tara.

Tara, Tara, Tara….what is EVEN happening to you? Is it your people, Tara? Are your people hiding your hairbrushes and painting your face while you sleep? Is it the boobs? Has the silicone started leaking and affected your brain?

I get it, Tara. Those bitches don’t know you. Those bitches want to be you. They wish they had your fake boobs and bird nest hair. You fucking invented that look. But, if I may be candid (and I feel like somebody ought to be) …I think you may have crossed the line. I think you may have hit a wall.

I think we may have to amputate.

I hear you, kiddo…life is hard. You should’ve been Josie in that goddamn Pussycat movie---American Pie was your Erin Brockovich! And fucking Carson Daly? The manorexic equivalent of a land war in Asia?

Mistakes, Tara. We all make them. But not all of us buy new boobs to make them go away. And wandering around like you’re waiting for De Palma to notice you’d be great in Carrie 3: Undead and Stacked, is not the way to go.

I know, sweetie. It’s a bad situation made worse by your hair.

So fucking comb it.