Dear Ashley,
I know you don't know me, but I'm hoping that
you'll take a few minutes out of your busy new schedule to hear what I have to say—you know, a sister-to-sister kind of thing.
Hell, I already feel like I've known you for years. And we actually
have a lot in common. For example, you're an aspiring hip-hop star. I
too, know what it's like to want to be a hip-hop star; I can still do
the entire rap from TLC's "Waterfalls." Quite well, I might add. Also,
we've both been broke and down and out in the past. You slept a with politician for money and I've joked loudly about it at the bar,
drinking on my last dollars, just quite drunk enough to think that
maybe if someone heard me and offered I might maybe except probably not
because I'm not that kind of girl but maybe I could be if I were drunk and desperate enough but probably not?
Anyway,
listen. I know Joe Francis offered you ONE MILLION DOLLARS to show the
world your boobies and tell your story to Girls Gone Wild "the
magazine," but, sister, he is exactly the kind of guy you want to stay away from. Plus, I have other plans for you.
It doesn't even matter that you were already a girl gone wild.
Who hasn't gotten drunk and shown her boobs to a camera? That's in the
past, and so is the whole prostitution thing. It's time to put the past behind you. Live in the present, while still profiting off of the past. Your present is really great right now, and you can still get away without looking
sleazy or stupid. Because I think you're a smart enough girl. And you
sure are pretty.
So far, it seems you're on the right track. You're keeping quiet. Except, what was that whole Post thing about? Have you forgotten we're not too happy with them? What's done is done, though; I don't really have time to focus on that. But no more of that! No more! You hear?? I'm sure you have enough money now to hold you over until your book comes out. Yes! Your book! We'll get to that later. First, here's what we're going to do from this point forward:
1) Do not,
under any circumstances, give any interviews to any gossip rags. Not
even People, or US Weekly. We all like to look at them while we're
taking a crap, but it doesn't mean we should fraternize with them.
2)
When "The View" comes knocking, say no. Same for Rachael Ray, "Extra,"
"Inside Edition," and any other show that is not one of the two I'm
about to list.
3) Barbara Walters or Oprah. Not both. But one. Your first
interview has to be with one of these women. No. One. Else. (Unless
you want us to interview you, because obviously we're the only blog
that has your best interests in mind).
4) Give said interview after at least 30 days from today. You need time to recover, and let's be honest, you want to drag this thing out as long as possible. Make people wonder. What do you sound like when you talk? What do you dress like when you're not posing for MySpace pictures? Do you really wear glasses? The world wants to know these things, and the world will wait for the answers.
5) Remember that you're not the bad guy. Eliot Spitzer is the bad guy, sort of. And didn't you, like, not even know who he was until one of your last encounters? That's okay. We can work with that.
6) Most importantly, do not show Joe Francis your boobies. No matter what he says or no matter how much money he offers you. Not because you're not allowed to show your boobies, because I'm sure they're nice, even if they do look really far apart from each other. But if you do show your boobies to the world, you should do it tastefully, in Vanity Fair or something. But not until after your book comes out!
7) Right, so the big kicker to all of this: you're going to write a book! Well, I'm going to help you write it, but still, you're going to write a book. And everyone will read it, the way everyone will go see the "Sex and the City" movie, even if they won't admit to it, the way respectable New York Times readers bought The Post just to see semi-naked pictures of you, and the same way we all sometimes sneak into McDonald's for a double cheeseburger with mayo and fries when we're hungover. Because even more than people want to know what you sound like when you talk, and whether you really wear glasses, and how charming you really are, people want to know about Eliot Spitzer's secret sex life. Did you really toss his salad? How was it dressed? Was he good in bed? Do you feel he respected you or was he all "wham, bam, thank you, ma'am?" I'm still working on the title, and I'm sure you don't even need a book proposal; publishers will be knocking down your door in days, if they're not already. And I'm just the kind-of young, fresh, sexually liberated voice you need to be ghost writing this thing for you. Keep it in mind. You can always reach me at scanner@nerve.com.
And remember, Ashley: you're not the bad guy, or girl as it were. I might be, a little, for trying to profit off of this, but who isn't? And like I said, I definitely have your best interests at heart. Really, I do. You'll make way more money off of this than I will. Email me!
Love,
Your Sister and New BFF Scanner Emily
XOXO
P.S. KIT!
