I'll Make You Famous…




I am – Lindsay Lohan Leaving the Gym and Letter to Paris Hilton in Jail of the Day


Haven’t seen much of Lohan in a while, except in my dreams, unfortunately. She’s been in rehab and working out because exercise gives us that the natural high and what better way to kick one habit with another one with positive effects. I had a friend who quit meth years ago and took a liking to brushing his teeth chronically. Other addicts find Jesus. Lohan find the elipticycle. The funny thing about these pictures isn’t her ass, but her “Unstoppable” hat, It’s like rehab gives these idiots stupid tools to cope like t-shirts and hats that say positive life changing things because if you wear it you start to believe it.

I personally don’t like ironic shirts, they kinda piss me off because every frat boy and their sister has an “Idaho no you da ho” shirt, but if it makes a bitch flash her tits then I guess I shouldn’t complain about being dressing like jackasses.

Either way, I was emailed Paris Hilton’s address in prison, so I decided to write her a letter. It’s one of those back them into the fucking corner like a caged rat and force them to read the fucking thing situations. I capitalize on all opportunities to tell people like Paris I exist so this is what I wrote her.

Paris Hilton #9818783
450 Bauchet Street
Los Angeles, CA 90012

Dear Paris,

I was just sitting next to a middle-aged woman who was talking to her friend about how she went to her gyno and he told her that she had a tight box. She said something along the lines of turning sand into diamonds with her shit or something and I thought of you. Not because you have a tight box or because you’re a middle aged women or because you visit the gyno as much as you probably should, but because you were on the cover of the magazine they were reading.

I used to call you and text message you about a year ago pretending I was talking to a bitch named Brenda from Maryland who broke my heart. You played along with it for a while, you even told me that Lohan had herpes but never told anyone who she banged raw dog. Then you blocked my number and told me you were going to call the cops on me. I was forced to start calling Stavros instead and he got all emotional on me when I made fun of him for giving Petra Nemcova herpes, but you don’t care about that. Water under the bridge. Right.

What you do care about is living through this prison sentence. I want to tell you that I am there for you when you get out. I figure this prison pen pal shit makes dreams come true. I actually met my fat wife Claudette when she wrote into me when I was in jail for robbing a convenience store for drugs about 15 years ago. I welcomed her attention and her pictures and decided that I’d move to Canada to be with her as soon as I got out and got cleared to enter Canada because they don’t like criminal records in. When I met her for the first time at the bus station I was pretty disappointed that she was about 300 pounds and those hot pictures she was sending me were of her cousin. I still married her because I had no where to go. But you don’t care about that. You are too busy caring about yourself.

I know that you won’t really have to worry about having nowhere to go when you get out. I know that you will go back to normal and will be back in the party scene pantyless for people like me to post on the internet and talk about. I know that a month after you get out, you’ll forget your claims to be a good influence to the kids who look up to you, what you don’t realize is that you are a good influence to the kids. You’ve made every 15 year old for the last 5 years drawn to filming sex tapes, rockin’ out at parties, throwing education out the window while sitting in VIP rooms and wearing designer clothes. I don’t think girls would be half as slutty as they are if you never hit the scene. So when you say you want to get your priorities straight, you have to recognize the good you’ve done for people like me. You don’t know how many times I’ve been in bars or in the park where I’ve seen girls jokingly flash each other their vaginas on camera or how many ex-girlfriend sex tapes that have hit since your ex-girlfriend sex tape. Even when they are staged, they are hot. As you know, little miss businessperson.

A lot of people sympathize with you for being raised in luxury and how this prison thing is a culture shock for you that you don’t deserve. They say it’s like letting a Panda born in captivity out into the wild for the first time to fend for itself. I always argue that even crackheads who robbed a bank for crack still cry for their moms when they get sent off to jail. I also think that there are laws in place for people to respect and if you don’t respect them you gotta pay the price, so stop being such a fucking baby about things. I fucking hate spoiled bitches and their whimpers, unless those whimpers are sounds of joy while sucking on a dick, but not my dick because I am impotent.

So stop complaining and start making license plates. I figured you to be versatile and just think of this as another episode of simple life without the makeup and that ratty piece of shit anorexic sidekick of yours. Take this like a holiday; make some friends, and just keep reminding yourself that at least you’re not me, it’s a fate worse than a week in prison, it’s a life sentence. I just hope you don’t get your period because I hear the other inmates are drawn to the smell of blood….not that you have much to worry about because HPV ruined your uterus, at least that’s what someone told me.

Now that I have you cornered with nothing better to do by read my letter, I decided to show you some of the stuff I’ve written about you over the years…but I hate going back through my archives, but I’ll let you do it when they give you some computer access at the prison learning center. The website is www.drunkenstepfather.com, it’s the best website on the internet that nobody reads.

The real reason I am writing you this letter, is not to make fun of you, it is to bring joy into your cold dark lonely cell. I don’t really give a fuck about the whole thing, but I do give a fuck about making myself famous and I plan on using you.

I figure we can do things two ways. Firstly, you can send me exclusive pictures that you take of yourself when you get out and I’ll post them exclusively on my site. I hate the paparazzi and figure if they’re making so much fucking money off you that you should eliminate them from the process by hiring a photographer to follow you everywhere you go so that I get good original pictures that everyone will want to see. Secondly, you can give me the exclusive Post Prison Interview that barbara walters has a soft on for and who is probably paying you lots of money for but I think you should choose my site just to throw people off and prove how Prison has clouded your judgement.

Speaking of clouding your judgement, I read that you’re having a real hard time trying to convince them to keep you in the psych ward and I have a solid solution for you it’s called Poo Art. You are pretty much stripped down to basics and have limited tools to convince people you’ve lost your mind and the best way I know how to do it is to use what god gave you and that’s shit. Basically, you just start drawing all over the walls of your cell with your shit while singing love songs from the 80s. When you are finished, or all out shit just start banging your head against the wall repeating your name over and over…it always works for me when I want out of a job or whatever.

Either way, To help you make your decision I decided to write you a poem and bEy write I mean copy from the internet and pretend I wrote it because I am not that creative.

I was too lazy to look for a poem to copy in, but I do look forward to a letter back from you because I think I deserve it for taking the time out of my busy day doing nothing to write you. Take care of yourself. Make me famous. Remember me when you’re out.

I guess this officially means you’re my prison girlfriend. I’ve always wanted one of those.

With Love,

Jesus Martinez

PS – I was going to include pictures of my asshole as jokes but it’s too inflamed and my shitty digital camera screen broke and doesn’t work, maybe you can buy me a new one since we’re technically in a relationship now. Thanks in advance.

PPS – I wrote this on toilet paper that I stole from the gas station because the only other paper in the house is old grocery store flyers my wife accidentally pissed on. I think I made the right choice. Cuddles.

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