My Dearest Ambersand,
I am forced to write this open letter to you as I am in fear of your life my own life. I know you’ve been going through some really rough times lately. First you got knocked to the up whilst 16 years old and, even worse, it took you 2 seasons to lose the baby weight. Second, you were captured beating the bag out of your fiance (“we’re fiance now!”) on one the highest rated nationally televised shows on cable. Bravo, as a sidenote, for your attempt to toss Gar’s TV down the stairs. But I have to say that I’m really concerned these days. Rumor has it that you tried to self-dirt-nap yourself and now are planning on heading to rehab for depression and anger management issues? Well I have one thing to say to you, Amber Portwood, and that is don’t. you. dare.
You think the public wants you acting rationally on the regular? Hell no! I want to see punches and I want to see you trying to literally kick Gary’s a** down the stairs. You hear me? How can you be so selfish? Do you know what I had to go through these past 3 months watching 16 & Pregnant and hoping one of these chicks would be 1/10th the trash bag you are? It was tough. I struggled. It was a dark time for me. A time I never want to go back to again.
So shake it off, Amber. You’ve lost the weight. Can’t that be enough? So you got a tattoo of what looks like Frances from PeeWee’s Big Adventure on your stomach. So you got your kid taken away from you. So you tried to off your self. So you have multiple puffy leather couches. So what? You have a lot of great things going for you like…well…uh…you can “sexy-dance” like no ones business. I saw you dropping it like it was hot in your blue dress on the beach with Gar. I saw those moves. I know what you’re capable of. So, my dear Amber, dance! Sexy-dance like your life depends on it! Because, in reality, it does. Like a very wise woman once said, “Do, do, do, do, do, do, do. Do, do, do, do, do, do, do. Do, do, do, do, dooo, do. I love your smile.” Some come on, Ambjikistan, don’t let Shanice down. I mean, what the hell did she ever do to you?
In closing, on a serious note, suicide is never an option. I mean, you are on a hit reality show. My parents know your name. You live in a place called “The America.” You’re as close to royalty as we’re going to get. I need you to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, don’t get sober or anything, don’t manage your anger, and just provide me with three months of wondrous episodes of Teen Mom this summer that make me squeal with delight and know that all my prayers to Jesus Claus to keep you crazy have paid off.
God is Love, Rev Run Best Wishes in Landford, IBBB
Join my new “Amber and Gary, the Roseanne and Dan of Our Generation” Facebook page and while you’re at it feel free to say hello to yours truly on my very own Facebook page. Facebook, it’s what’s for dinner.
