You got fat. Now before you hit that uncomfortable high C and deafen me permanently, let me tell you one thing. I'm allowed to be chubby, because I'm not a celebrity. I'm allowed to have a muffin top because I don't make money based on how I look and whether or not my tits look perfect. You do. If singers were paid on the quality of their voice rather than the sexuality and appeal of their overall image, I've got a lot of friends who should be raking in the $35 million deal that you got with Columbia records last year to record awful, shitty music that makes me question where mainstream America is headed. Only my friends would use that money to make an album a million times better and probably give away a good deal of that $35 million. They'd also take their careers and honest talents seriously enough that they wouldn't pose on the cover of Rolling Stone in high heels and panties. So when your sister Ashlee Simpson goes all boo-hoo on the media, telling them that a size two (which you know you aren't) isn't something to be ashamed of, I say "GET REAL". You got where you were because you (used to) look good in hot pants, Jessica. That's really all you had to rely on. It's not like you're a MENSA member or a PR whiz. You're not going to cure AIDS this year. And when you first met with studio execs, I highly doubt that the first thing they said was "So this the girl with the voice!" We get it - you found love in Tony Romo(whom I sincerely question to be a feeder) and made a crap country album. You want a cookie for that? Probably. So instead of sitting around and whining that Mama Media is a bitch, give her a hug for getting you where you are and jump on the treadmill. Hell, my dad even commented on this. And you wanna know how media savvy he is? Just enough to know when Everybody Loves Raymond is on.
Sincerely,
Stephie
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