Every once in a while, I like to take time out from my busy schedule to save a heaux in need. The recipient of my ‘Save a Heaux’ lifeline this time will be none other than Jennifer Aniston. Because folks, let’s face facts. She just cannot get a break. So without further adieu, here is my open letter to the woman that could have been but never quite was.
I’ve been watching you closely the last few months. Closer than I ever have before because I finally thought you were going to rise above the fray and have it all! Not that I was secretly rooting for you, because I’ve never particularly been a fan of your work or your countless movies where you portray a variation of Rachel, but whatevs. A check is a check is a check. Any-one-dimensional-acting-way, you deserve love and happiness or at the very least the Hollyweird form of what happiness is supposed to look like. So when you managed to snag Justin Theroux (which is a WTF conundrum that I will address at a later date) I thought things were looking up. Maybe now people would be able to mention your name without mentioning the name of the Oscar winner who took your man and left you all alone.
Hometrick, you just can’t win. You finally get a man, possibly a babything, and maybe a ring, and then, guess who swoops in on your parade to throw major shade on it? Your arch enemy: Angie Jo, aka The SteelTrap Thundercat! Now she is engaged, and now she will be planning a wedding. What will you do now? Your wedding surely cannot contend with her destined to be epic wedding, her six children carrying her long train through a garden in a Vera Wang dress, as you settle for your former co-stars from Friends carrying your tired bouquet. Ross contending with Shiloh Pitt? I think not.
Jen, friend? You’re going to need some things. The only way you top this is if you get married at The Vatican carrying septuplets. It may sound impossible, but chin up and out!
Impossible is nothing!
Heaux up…or blow up!
That is all.