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“Dude. WTF happened? One minute, I’m on the hottest television show of all time and married to the hottest man in the universe. And the next, I’m forty, single, my ovaries are drying up, and I’m driving a motherfucking rickshaw. I knew I should’ve become a Scientologist when I had the chance. FML”
Star Magazine has reported that Jennifer Aniston recently scribbled down a love poem for her main
douche man, John Mayer. And wouldn’t you know it, he went around and turned it into a beautiful Mayer ballad, a surprise unleashed upon her over the holidays while the two vacationed in Mexico.
Oh, my! Could we soon witness the release of the next great Mayer oeuvre? What could possibly top “Your Body Is A Wonderland?”
Let’s take a peek at Aniston’s lyrics:
Lucky in love, lucky in love
Didn’t forget me when I asked you to leave me.
Didn’t forget me
Now you’re alongside me
You’ve brought luck to love
I’ve been hit by a truck in love.
Looks like somebody’s been taking classes at the Tila Tequila school of Poetry, though they might be better served by sticking to a healthy regimen of Pilates, beach lounging, shopping for clothing basics, and taking on the occasional romantic comedy role.
If I read another boo-hoo out of you (“Vogue, I can’t buh-lieve what uncool Angelina said in another magazine!” “EW, I can’t buh-lieve Vogue printed what I said about Angelina! It’s not like everybody’s slobbering in wait for me to breathe the word Ang–” “I’m the victim here!”) I promise that I will send each one of my overbearing, stubborn, outspoken aunts out to your house to hunt you down and give you a good old-fashioned Hardass Asian talking to.
Y’know. Like the kind you get when you’re getting divorced and they explain to you that you’ve suddenly made it everyone’s dishonor problem.
Y’know. Like when they tell you that your career goals of becoming an engineer are stupid and worthless, and that if you loved anybody but yourself, you would just go to medical school like your mother wanted you to.
Y’know. Like when they say that you should exercise more. Because you look fat.
They’re mean as hell. But they’re honest.
Trust me, at the end, you won’t feel pretty, you won’t feel cool, you won’t feel good about the fact that you’re still dating that cooz John Mayer–but you will understand (hopefully) that there’s no pride in airing your relationship dirty laundry through PR channels over the course of five years. That in order to maintain your dignity you’ve can’t cry out loud–just keep it inside, and hold your head up high, and make a goddamn good movie for Chrissake.
Please. Have a little pride.