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January 26, 2007

Evan Rachel Fug

Dear Evan Rachel Wood,

Hello. How's it going? Are you feeling okay? Having fun at Sundance? That's nice. We just wanted to check in with you and make sure it's been a fun, relaxing vacation.

Oh, but before we go: WHAT IS THE DEAL, woman?

I mean, seriously. Has it escaped your notice that you appear to be shacking up with Marilyn Manson? And that you're 19, and he's, like, 38 or so, and also a horrific prince of doom? Did he give you beer goggles that make him look like Kiefer Sutherland? Does he turn back into a cuddly little pumpkin after midnight? Is his junk made of Diet Coke? WHAT? What is it?

Because it's rather well documented -- we're certainly not the first to say it -- that you are starting to turn yourself into his ex, Dita Von Teese.

Here you were B.R. -- that's Before the Reckoning -- looking fresh faced and normal as you eased into womanhood.

And here's a little collage of you and Dita now, after you (allegedly) took a twiddle on the skin-flute of Satan's high priest of contact lenses.

We're not criticizing the hair and makeup, per se. You're a very pretty girl. But you are dating a notorious nutbar and mimicking the very distinct look of his incredibly hot, bodaciously bodded former wife. Did you think no one would notice, child? Are you not at all curious about the timing of this, and whether he's engineering you as some kind of younger SuperDita, meaning you'll be raven-haired and frolicking in giant martini glasses in a matter of weeks?

And I have to ask again: WHY? For the LOVE of GOD, why?

Look, I know I shouldn't judge books by their covers, but at the same time, there has to be something in the title, or the jacket, or the spine, or even in the font they used, that makes me want at least to check it out from the library and then leave it on my To Be Read pile until I have to return it to avoid late fees.

Do you really want to be riding bareback on this particular wang carousel, Evan Rachel? Does it really turn your crank to come home and gaze soulfully into the Giant Plastic Iris of the Apocalypse? Is there nowhere else you can play out your days of girlish rebellion than a man who is 19 years your senior and not yet divorced and, well, freaking MARILYN MANSON? I mean, REALLY?

Was Justin Timberlake busy? We need to clone him and start renting him out as a rehabilitative measure -- Britney could have one, and Lindsay could rent one for a week, Cameron could buy one for her nightly surfing of those waves of jealousy that rise up in her throat and threaten to choke her, and now Evan Rachel could snag one. It would be a great little cottage industry.

Let's get on it. Because it can't be good for a 19-year old soul to wake up every morning and stare across the bed at the leader of the undead.

Posted by Heather at 01:06 PM | Permalink

 

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