Dear Miss Marchand,
You're probably wondering why I haven't been writing about your latest exploits.
I really don't care, Foxy.
I think the last time I really cared about your exploits is when you came to Raleigh and spat on those two Holiday Inn workers over an iron. (The saddest part about that sentence is that you stayed in an Holiday Inn in Raleigh. Surely there's better hotels in the area that you could've stay at, right?)
Seriously, when Gawker starts to mock you, you need help. Not necessarily God, not necessarily Jesus, just help.
(Pics: Wikipedia, MS Special)