AN OPEN LETTER TO GOD, OR WHATEVER Dear God,
I’m not exactly sure what you think you’re doing, but let me just make this clear: I will kill you/send you a strongly worded letter if you continue to allow this whole colored denim trend to happen. What is this? Compton? Oh my god.
Now that I’ve got that out of the way, we can get down to business. Clearly, you’ve been slacking. I mean, I get it. Between Swayze’s death and the whole Galliano scandal, we’re all a little shaken up. Sometimes when I think about it for too long, I have to go into my room, build a nest out of last season’s clothing, and scream/cry until somebody from the apartment below me hears me, and comes running. Anyway, you seriously need to sit down and take a look at your priorities. I mean, did you see the new Louis Vuitton bag this season? Yellow/orange plastic and towel material? Really? No.
I know you know that I know you know what I’m talking about.
This whole debacle makes me sick. Literally. I’m super sick. You would be so jealous if you knew how ill I can make myself over things like this. What you need is an assistant. Someone who’s beautiful, funny, has a fierce sense of fashion, and who’s totally down with the whole ethereal thing.
I know what you’re thinking: Serenity Scott.
I thought so, too. I mean, she is
that girl. She’s everywhere. On billboards, on TV, on your phone, at the Oscars after-party, sitting on
your boyfriend’s lap, drinking
your Diet Coke that he was supposed to get for
you. Serenity, what are you trying to do to us? Are you some kind of witch? I don’t know if I love you, or if I hate you, or if I love you because I hate you. I mean, you have perfect belle-hair, you’re smart-sexy act is so fucking rude, and your stylist dresses you like a French-fifties-princess. WHAT EVEN IS THIS?
Sorry. Let me collect myself.
Serenity’s not who we’re looking for; she’s way too busy with her whole “classier version of Clara Thompson” thing that she’s trying to pull off. So chic.
Here’s a list of suitable non-Serenity candidates:
1. Princess Margret: Already dead; I can’t even handle it right now.
2. Hermione Granger: Fictional super-genius. So chic.
3. Cassie Smith: Obviously
4. Arianna Harley
Okay. So now that I’ve addressed the pressing issue, I have some questions. You better answer these. I’m fucking serious.
1. Why did Mary have to give birth in a manger? You should have gotten her a hotel room. But, like, a nice hotel room.
2. Why doesn’t Riley Hamilton have his own TV show, and then get nominated for an Oscar? Because I’m only going to that fucking awards show if he’s gets nominated (Moral support).
3. Can I reserve a room in Heaven for when I die?
4. Is butter a carb?
I leave you with some quick words of encouragement, but, like, really quick, I’m late for lunch with Monica Lewinsky:
I know that sometimes your life gets bothersome. You may even wonder why you got yourself into this whole high-stress situation. I’m aware that sometimes you want to ask your parents (I’m assuming you’re the product of Stephanie Fierce and Adam Benjamin's perfect genes somehow morphing together) what their problem is, or request that Stephanie quit wearing leotards to the dinner table, because it makes you feel fat, even though you aren’t. Please don’t be fat. Someday, you might even want to go discount denim shopping, but remember this: You’ll get diseases. When you’re in times of trouble, there is only one person in this entire universe that completely understands you… No, not Gemma Urie. Me, Nichole.
Okay, well. Talk to you later. Namaste.
Love you. Mean it.
Nichole
Edited by user 22 January 2013 04:11:05(UTC)
| Reason: Not specified