Dear Courtney Love,

What the fuck?

Okay, I will admit it was kinda cool when you punched Kim Gordon backstage at Lollapalooza way back in the nineties. I'm no music buff, but I understand from my friends that out of all the musicians in the world, Kim Gordon is up there on the "punchable" list with Raffi and Right Said Fred. She's just too damned smug.

And you throwing shit at Madonna at the MTV music awards a few years back? Anything that makes Madonna look like the classiest person in the room (aside from a children's book) is trippy enough for me. I like my world surreal.

But something has to be done. You're on a crazy, drug-filled crime spree across my beloved Los Angeles, and, unlike every other celebrity on a crazy, drug-filled crime spree across my beloved Los Angeles (and there are many), you don't have a good plastic surgeon.

Or even a vague idea how to apply makeup.

Hitting a fan with a microphone? Trying to break in to your ex-boyfriend's house? Endangering others while under the influence of a controlled substance?

Wearing THAT lipstick color with THAT rouge and applying neither one correctly?

For the love of Francis Bean, you simply must stop. Get Queer Eye'd, get What Not To Wear'd, get thee to a Clinique counter. Just stop looking like a scary-ass hag on a three day bender.

Love,
Skye
 
P.S. This comes from a lesbian who reacted to the news of her sister's impending wedding with, "I have to wear a dress AND makeup? Jesus H. Christ." When I call you on something, honey, it's a serious I-S-S-U-E.

P.P.S. You know that story about how you have those two German or Swedish guys who follow you around your house and paint your toenails while you're peeing? Yeah.