Dear Two-Headed Monster Known Also by the Name BRANGELINA,First, props. I do acknowledge that:
1. Each of you is empirically beautiful. Even though, Brad, when everyone else had a crush on you in high school, I thought you looked like a monkey. And then later in college, I heard that you smell like one, too. It's rumored that you fart a lot on set? Is that true? Never mind, I don't want to think about it. Angelina, I totally used to love you, thought you were a total hottie badass, particularly loved you in "Girl, Interrupted." Back then. Before you grew a second head.
2. You all do a lot of charity work, and I can't say anything bad about that. You truly are using your celebrity for good, in a lot of ways. Kudos to you.
BUT. Every time I hear a mere whisper of the phenomena that is Brangelina, my eye begins to twitch. Can we say most. overexposed. couple. in Hollywood? And I cannot hop on board this train, because
I
just
do
not
care.
Brangelina Monster, I don't care that you're building a small nation of children faster than Melissa Duggar and soon will have to install wheeled luggage racks to each child in order to get through the airport. I don't care about your fancy-schmanzy new castle and compound overseas. I don't care where you're going, where you've been, and what giant pair of sunglasses you wore on your face while pretending not to love the crowds and cameras that surrounded you every step of the way. I don't care what freaky-ass names you're going to come up with for the twins, or what they look like in the womb. I don't care about your newfound, glassy-eyed serenity and your inevitable Canonization into sainthood. I don't care what brand of toilet paper you use, either, but my ambivalence is moot, because Brangelina Monster, you are everywhere. Impossible to escape. I don't get why people revere the Brangelina Monster, aside from the aforementioned concessions of beauty and sainthood. I suppose the reverence is fine to some degree, but the reverence feeds the media's need to follow the Brangelina Monster even more, which feeds the reverence all over again, which feeds the media, and on and on and on. And all of this feeding causes the Brangelina Monster to grow, and grow, and grow. Leaving the innocent population nowhere to hide.
So, good luck to you, Brangelina Monster, with your marriage, your children, your movies, your interviews with the starry-eyed Ann Curry, your FAT bank account, and your quest to take over--er, save--the world. Just know that this typically pop-culture obsessed girl couldn't care less, and will continue to avert her eyes from your allegedly blinding beauty, and oppose your campaign for world domination with more than a little snark.
Sending you a Fruit Basket of Love,
Penelope
2 tips left at the bar:
What do you think, Pen, if Brangie was a super hero, what would their power be?
Brangie is already a super-hero! Clearly. Able to charm and mesmerize the masses with their laser-beam eyes.
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