Dear Jennifer Aniston,
Years ago, in an America far, far away, you were our reigning Queen of Must See TV. Week in, week out, your portrayal of uptight retail buyer Rachel Green brought a smattering of happiness into our lives, as did your signature hairstyle. And while publicly we all rolled our eyes as to the obviousness of your ongoing on-and-off romance with your simian best friend Ross, privately, we all basked in the warmth of your glow. Even at $1 million per episode, you were worth it.
Then, in 2004, the cast of Friends decided they would be better off on the big screen. And so you went on to make a string of films that even your follicles couldn’t save: Derailed, Rumor Has It…, The Break-Up (which, to be fair, made good bank, but just sucked). And we thought that perhaps that would be the last of you.
And you’ve proved us wrong! Your failed marriage with Brad Pitt was splashed across the headlines after he left you for Angelina Jolie in 2005. We felt bad at the time… Really! We just wanted you to have babies and live your life and be happy.
But lately, we’re starting to maybe understand what drove you and Brad Pitt apart. And that would be this: Woman, you just don’t know what to shut your damn mouth.
In the past couple of months, it seems that every magazine cover and gossip column and trashy blog (THROAT CLEAR) is talking about you. Every day! Whether you’re constantly dishing about your new boy toy John Mayer, or talking to the press about how “over” Brad and Ange you are (hint: please get a therapist and keep me out of it), or posing naked on NUMEROUS magazine covers… it just reeks of desperation.
And the thing is: We want to like you! You were great on 30 Rock! You have great comic timing! But then you have to go and call Angelina “uncool” and we’re all like “Dammmmmn Jen, why can’t you just keep it ladylike? You are slowly rewriting the lyrics to the Blackstreet song to read “No Dignity”… and the truth is, we’re not really liking the way you work it. Nor would we “bag it up.”
Hence this letter. Jennifer Aniston: Please shut the f**k up already. The world gets it: You are happy, blessed, in love, looking fab, and most importantly, over Brad!
Put your fabulous 40-year-old body in some clothes for a couple of months, hang out with your new boy toy at home in Highfenceville, and just bide your time. Beetlejuice those lips shut. And you know what? Keep with this plan, and in a couple of months, maybe we’ll watch Marley & Me on Demand. We said maybe! Don’t push it.
The Alliance of Literate Americans
PS: If we’re ever to meet you, we will of course pretend this letter never happened and kiss your ass accordingly. Good day.