Dear Ashlee Simpson,
I am sorry to hear about your divorce from Pete Wentz. Sorry because that means I have to read about you again. You and I have never really been friends, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm reacting this way.
Let's start at the beginning when you put out that song about the days of the week, or as you called it, "Pieces of Me." The only good thing that resulted from that song was that you set the bar so low that I could sing it at karaoke and people thought I was good.
And you knew you couldn't sing, even though your album, Autobiography, went triple platinum. You knew, didn't you?
How else could you explain the Saturday Night Live fiasco? It's where your secret was accidentally revealed to everyone.
You lip-synced, did a jig, and blamed heartburn and your dad for not being able to sing live. Asssshleeee, you knew the whole time you couldn't sing live! And then, well, then you tried to redeem yourself by singing live, again.
And where did that get you? It got you booed off the stage after your halftime performance at the Orange Bowl. Why? Because you can't sing.
And when I thought you couldn't get any sadder, you went and changed your face. Now Ash, you were so pretty. Why did you do it? And then why did you deny it? I hope your new face made you happy. It certainly didn't win you any fans ... or any music deals ... or any movie roles.
And the hair. I'm afraid it's going to fall out. From blond to red to black to brown to platinum -- how have you survived all those chemical treatments?
Ashlee, let this divorce be a new beginning for you. May you find your path and find happiness. Just ... don't try and sing. Don't let "singing" be your path. Please.
Photo via YouTube