Mine heart, it weeps for thee, Star Jones. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’d rather you hear it from me, a true friend, than from some other anonymous web-stalker. It seems your husband, that handsome universe of pizzazz Al Reynolds, was spotted visiting a divorce lawyer last week… Oh Star, honey, I know it’s awful. Come here, shhh… shhhh, it’s ok.
Yes. Yes, I know the media is hard on you, sweetheart. No, of course you don’t look like a bug-eyed bag of demon bones! I’m sure Al is very good to you. He bought you that purse? Wow, it’s gorgeous! And your dress… the shoes and that wall hanging? You are a lucky lady. Well, I guess you were a luck girl, anyway. Ha? No? We hear ya.
No, Star, you look fantastic. Everyone thinks so. Star, don’t — don’t eat that cupcake. Nobody wants to see you binge eat yourself to death, honey. No, Star, now, now put that lasagna down — No, not the entire rack of ribs, bones and all! Star, wait, that cow isn’t even dead yet! Star, please, your stomach — think of the staples!
Oh, who are we kidding. Cram it in down that filth-spewing hole in your face, darling. I hate to say it, but you’ve earned it. Now here’s hoping we never have to look at the two of you again.
Link via Gawker.