An Open Letter To Tostitos Scoops

Dear Tostitos Scoops,

I apologize for the tardiness of my letter, as I realize you’ve been on the market for the last few years. But as I’m sitting here tonight, enjoying my friend’s homemade salsa, I’m wondering how the hell anyone ever ate salsa (or any dips) before you came along?

I know that flat tortilla chips are still made, but I shudder to think what kind of child-molesting cretin would even bother with those flat bitches? Flatties don’t hold a candle to your voluptuous curves that envelope a dip like an old lover in a tender embrace. You not only hold my salsa with confidence, but you ensure that every last bit of it makes it to my mouth and not my shirt. Your shape reminds me of the cradle used to hold the blessed baby Jesus. And when food resembles a religious figure, you know it’s going to be delicious. God bless the person who created you! There’s a special place in heaven for this tortilla chip saint.

Keep On Scooping,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter to My Friend Janie

Dear Janie,

Look, I understand. We've all let ourselves go at some point in our lives. We stop watching every little thing we eat and it winds up catching up with us. Perfectly normal.

That said, I feel like I have to intervene. Sweetie, you're getting really fat. I started noticing it a few months ago, probably before anyone else did. Just a very slight hump where there used to be a flat belly. Not a big deal, but I was concerned. But then it just continued to grow, like a mutant watermelon. I've even noticed that you've started wearing looser clothes to compensate. Sad, really. But what's sadder is the way you've seemingly embraced your newfound obesity. You almost seem proud of it!

Normally, I wouldn't say anything. You're my friend whether you're as skinny as a runway model or as big as a house. But it's not healthy to blow up as quickly as you have. The others won't tell you the truth. They seem amused by it, running up to feel your belly like you're the second coming of Buddha. They're enablers, but I can't stand idly by.

The thing is, you know I'm right. I noticed that you've even packed a "hospital bag". Clearly you're aware of the impact your quick weight gain has had on your heart and have simply resigned yourself to your upcoming coronary. I urge you to reconsider, Janie. It's not too late to get on a diet plan and return to your former glory.

With concern,
Shawn

P.S. What does your husband Jeff have to say about this? And why did I see him buying cigars the other day? Are you both trying to ruin your health as quickly as possible??

An Open Letter To Charlie Sheen

Dear Charlie,

Hey man, how’s it going? I’m guessing not well based on the fact you got your ass arrested and thrown in jail on Christmas for allegedly holding a knife to your wife’s throat and threatening to kill her. Ouch. I understand that your baby momma was legally drunk at 8:30 in the morning (CLASSY) and probably had it coming, but still… this is getting embarrassing.

Charlie, I think you just need to stop getting married and stop procreating. Do you really need to be populating the planet with your crazy genes?! You already had THREE kids by two previous women and you really felt the need to have twins with this crazy bitch, who by the way has my same name? Don’t think for a second I’m not pissed that Brooke Mueller is desecrating the name Brooke for all of us!

Why don’t you just concentrate on your acting career, which right now consists solely of “Two And A Half Men,” and help that kid who plays your nephew slim down the chunk because he is getting FAAAAT. Maybe help your dad, Martin, do some political stuff or help your brother, Emilio, find ANY sort of an acting role since I don’t think I’ve seen him on film since “The Mighty Ducks.” I know you can do it , Charlie! I have faith in you!

Stay Away From Those Crazy Bitches,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Martha Stewart

Dear God, Martha. Seriously. While this lobster baby would be tasty, I'm sure, with some melted garlic butter and horseradish, it's still a lobster stuffed with live baby at the end of the day. Jesus Christ.

<3, JuliaD
homemadehilarity.com

An Open Letter To Kate Gosling

Dear Kate,

Girl, looks like your man, John, has gone astray. I'm sooo shocked by this news, seeing as how having eight children must not be stressful to a marriage whatsoever. And the fact that they're all the same age must make it even easier on you two. I'm sure potty training a gaggle of toddlers was super fun! Oh, and the fact that you act like an uber-bitch 99% of the time must give ol' Johnny Boy an instant erection.

Don't get me wrong, I would probably have permanent PMS, too, if I was in your position. But why don't you try dialing down the whole "emasculating ball & chain thing" and see how that goes. Maybe take a day off from screaming orders at him every once in a while, 'cause I don't know too many men in the market for a single mom with eight kids, if you know what I mean.

Just trying to be helpful,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Aunt Flo

Dear Aunt Flo,

Bitch, where the hell have you been the last two weeks?! I'm just going along, thinking everything is fine and dandy, expecting you any minute and then...nothing. I start to freak out, think maybe my "pull out and pray" method of birth control is perhaps not the most effective for a single girl to be using. You even made me go so far as to look up "early signs of pregnancy" on Web MD! Aunt Flo, you had me thinking about my future, picking out cribs online, thinking about how I would have to turn my guest room into a nursery. You made me have the "awkward talk" with the prospective baby daddy about a possible bun in the oven.

And, FINALLY, you show up all late and totally unapologetic. You also brought with you an uninvited guest, PMS. She's a real bitch. She makes me want to cry and rip someone's face off all at the same time. I swear to God, Aunt Flo, the next time you put me through something like this, we're finished. I'm scheduling a hysterectomy and getting all my lady parts removed so you can't fuck with me anymore. Either that, or I better be preggers cause if I'm going through all that stress, I'm getting a cute baby out of it. Oh, and you better stop by the store cause I'm all out of tampons.

Feeling crampy,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Miley Cyrus

Dear Miley,

Why the fuck are you EVERYWHERE? How do I even know who you are? I thought I was done with your hillbilly family after your dad's incredibly annoying "Achy Breaky Heart" finally faded away. But no, he had an ace in his pocket (or should I say his sperm) when you were born. I first remember hearing about you because my nephew had a crush on your ass a few years ago. That's when you were better known as "Hannah Montana" and hadn't yet blossomed into the full-blown whore you are now.

At first, I thought, "What a cute kid. She's funny and she can sing, too." Then, almost overnight, you turned into this big-lipped 16 year old slut who's fucking a 20 year old. Hmm, do you still wear your purity ring? I'm thinking that's a big "hell no" since the last pics I saw of you were not so pure. You had on a wet, white t-shirt with a bikini top underneath and you were helping your fuck buddy "wash" his car. I'm just curious, aren't you a millionare? Couldn't you PAY someone to wash the damn car? Or did you just want to get some wet t-shirt pics into all the tabloids?


I can't wait until five years from now when you will either be a complete washed up has been ala your daddy or just another strung out drug addicted child star ala Lindsey Lohan. You better get knocked up soon so you too can have a dynamic kid just like yourself and ride their coat tails when you're forty... and the tale of the Cyrus family saga continues.

P.S.- I hope you and your loser best friend read this and then make fun of it on your super cool YouTube broadcasts. They are not dumb, lame, or mindnumbing to watch whatsoever.

Hope this makes you cry,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Girl Scout Cookies

Dear Girl Scout Cookies,

Why are you so goddamn delicious? I think you are made with equal parts crack, puppies, and baby smell because all those things are awesome AND highly addictive. And I hate you for that. Just a handful of your scrumptiousness has more calories than a Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings. How is that even possible? I know that every spring, you send out your little army of green sashed bitches to tug at my heart-strings and make me buy more boxes than a single girl could ever need. Oh, just freeze us and save us for later you say. NO! I want to eat you box by box in some Romanesque orgy fashion. I want to gorge on you until I am sick and ready to puke. Having a box in my house that hasn't been eaten yet is like a sex addict having a porn in the DVD player and trying not to watch it. IT CAN'T BE DONE!
I also have a bone to pick with you reguarding your recent name changes. Why are Samoa's now called Carmel De-Lites and Tag-A-Longs now called Peanut Butter Patties? I liked the old names. And what happened to the original Girl Scout Shortbread Cookie that was shaped like a Girl Scout's head? Did some Debbie Downer decide it was too morbid to eat a Girl Scout's head? I never liked them anyway, but it's still the principle of the matter. I like tradition. You show a box of them on your website, but they were nowhere to be found on the order form I filled out. Maybe you should look into that and consider bringing all the old stuff back. Don't worry, you could call your cookies "Nut Sack Sweat" and I would still eat them. I love you. I'll be seeing you next spring.

A former Brownie,
Shopgirl101