02/22/2006 - 1:53 pm
Dear Katie Holmes:
I'm not sure why I'm even writing this letter. It's probably much too late for anything to be done. In the very off off chance though that your brain hasn't already been sucked through your ears and you still have your own thoughts without fear of electric shocks or forced viewing of "Arli$," I'm going to offer you a little advice.
My advice is as such. One day, when you are in Australia, and hubby is taking advantage of the non-union film people and paying back the land for stealing the best years of its favorite daughter, and you're hanging out near craft services. When your new best friend Scientology warden is in the bathroom doing a line with the boom operator. When you're alone with the doughnuts, look up and see the vast horizon of the Australian outback. And run. Sure, it may seem irresponsible what with you being all pregnant and all. Don't worry about that. Wolves love babies and will happily raise it. Dingos, not so much. You don't have time to be picky right now, though. You've got to get out of there! Just effing run for it, Katie. Once you're far enough away, lay low with the wolves ala Laura San Giacomo in "Quigly Down Under." What? My mom loves Magnum -- I was forced to watch it. Anyway, hang with the wolves for a while. Like, three years or something. By the time you're back, Tom will have moved onto one the girls from the Travelling Pants movie. You'll be fine. Fine enough to reclaim your title as Best Actor from "Dawson's Creek." What is this shit? You're gonna sit around and let Michelle Williams be a fucking Oscar nominee -- MAYBE WINNER -- while you're playing second fiddle to Batman and having Jerry Maguire's baby? What is happening?
