AS YOUR MANAGER,
I THINK IT'S TIME TO
RETHINK SOME OF THE
ADVICE I GAVE YOU,
STARLET.
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It hasn't been our best year. When I discovered you, so young and precocious, I knew you were meant to be America's Sweetheart. And I was right: Four years later, you had your own show on Nickelodeon. Five years later, you were working with Spielberg. Six years later, your first album went platinum in Taiwan and you got a cool million just to appear in some beer commercials. I worked hard to get you to the top of the food chain.
Unfortunately, it's now seven years later and our run seems to be coming to an end. I guess it dawned on me when Google was forced to build a separate search engine dedicated to photographs of your vagina. Granted, I told you to lose the panties, that "underwear is for losers and B-listers," so there's a modicum of fault that lies with me, and I won't run from it.
In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about: I think it's time to rethink some of the advice I gave you, starlet.
For starters, I probably should have done a background check when you told me you were going to marry Surfer Dude #3 from your last film. Ditto on the guy who claimed to be the heir to a snack-cake fortune. I had a feeling from the start that Dirk von Twinkie was a con man, but you seemed so happy.
Was the face tattoo a good idea for the change in your "look" we needed? Debatable. If we could do it over, maybe I would have suggested dyeing your hair brown instead. But, on the other hand, why settle for only People magazine when a face tattoo says People magazine and Outlaw Biker?
You know what? I don't regret telling you to get the face tattoo at all.
However, when you insisted your signature perfume be called Tuberculosis, I should have jumped in. I should have explained what that word meant when you clipped it from the newspaper and said it sounded "weird but dope." My bad. Also, I should have given you a better second option than Girl Stank.
And, for future reference, leaving the scene of a crime makes sense only if you're drunk. I was in a deep sleep when you called me Sunday morning—telling you to run toward Mexico "como el viento" was the first thing that came to my foggy mind. The sirens were too loud, and I couldn't hear you say that you had dropped your cell phone and rammed your Mercedes into the front of a church. I just assumed you and Lesley Stahl were up to your mojito-fueled high jinks again.
And that reminds me: Going to Sky Bar one hundred nights in a row does not break any sort of world record. My assistant finally told me I had that feat somehow confused with multiple crossings of the English Channel. So that trophy I gave you? Worthless. The certificate of achievement? Invalid. I do have a wonderful picture of the two of us on the set of that new movie I got you, Hanukkah Ninjas, which you can put in the frame.
Speaking of Hanukkah, when I introduced you to cocaine, what did I say, missy? That it was to help you lose weight and keep you focused during late-night shoots only. Getting caught snorting it off that rapper's belt buckle at the BET Awards is unacceptable. If you're going to act like that around cocaine, horse tranquilizers are out of the question, young lady.
Look, forgive me. I don't want to yell at you. That's not "us." As you can see, I'm willing to take my share of the blame. And I'm going to be very frank: we don't have time for you to mess around with rehab. You know that sure thing we plunked most of your money and a little of mine into? That condo project with that guy I met flying back from Vegas, who was building on some undervalued land on the West Bank? Turns out the West Bank is in the Middle East and not near San Diego, like we thought. Anyway, we need some funds pronto, so I released one of those homemade porn tapes we were saving for a rainy day. Just wanted to give you the heads-up.
Long story short, I'm real sorry about some of the misguided advice I gave you. I hope you can forgive your old dad. Your mother and I just want it so much for you! You know it all comes from a good place, near my heart. And remember: Every mistake you make is one from which my newest client, your little sister, can learn.
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OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
- - - -
As Your Manager, I Think It's Time to Rethink Some of the Advice I Gave You, Starlet By Aaron Spiewak
Debate for Emperor of the Upsilon Sigma Star System By Teddy Wayne
Brett Ratner's Notes for His Film Version of The Road by Cormac McCarthy By Wendy Molyneux
Answers to Today's Hocus-Focus, Brought to You by Ralph Nader By Andrew Kiraly
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