An Open Letter to Justin Long

"T" is for Tainted

Dearest Justin,


I will admit I’ve had an irrational and long standing crush on you, back to when I first saw you as Warren Cheswick on Ed. Also I liked to watch all your Mac guy commercials over and over on Youtube. And, I Netflixed a lot of insufferable movies like “Herbie: Fully Loaded”, “Crossroads” and even “Raising Genius”. Such was the strength of my devotion to your roguish smile and bushy eyebrows.

However, your recent taste in partners is an increasing source of embarrassment, and it’s become harder and harder to maintain my admiration amidst all your poor choices.

First, it was this: 

Then this! 


Justin – I beg of you – please don’t be such a dirty manho. First was that irritating sunflower child with the weird lips. I thought, maybe you are just going through some “fugly phase” to piss off your parents. But then along came ol’ snaggleteefs Kirsten. And right about now, you’re well on your way to blowin it by associating with that mop-headed anorexic cabbage patch doll. 

I don’t understand why you insist on cavorting with skanky blonde trollops. What do Drew and Kiki Drunkst have that I don’t? Maybe it’s their history of alcohol abuse and hard partying ways that have brainwashed you into thinking they can show you a good time. Well, I can’t say I’ve had the glamourous experience of going to rehab, but I do have many friends and family that can vouch for my drinking problem. And as for good times, I can take you to the best street food and buffets in town. Have you heard of a little place called Sizzler? 

Justin, you can do much better, and I have been quite vocal about my affection to any and all who will listen, so why do I get nothing in response? Why, bitch, why?! 

I know exactly where your new Lower East Side condo is, and don’t think I won’t stand out front with a spray bottle of bleach and Sani-Wipes until you come to your senses and are restored to your sparkling pre-whorish condition. 

I am a QUEEN dammit, deserving of a king free from spoiled starlet grime and assorted nastiness. Alls I can say is, you got some ‘splainin to do, and if you want to win back my respect you can start with dumpin some hoes, bathing in a tub of Lysol, and investing in a tongue-scraper. Then you may call me. Choose wisely, buck.


Dr. Booga, Medicine Bitch 


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