Dear Katy Perry,

I know you come from some fundie gospel-singing background or somesuch, so I’m assuming your science skills are pretty much nil. Even taking that into account there seems to be little excuse for you to find it appropriate to brag about the ability of “gurls” from California to melt Popsicles, as if this somehow made them unique. I’m pretty sure even fundies are on-board with the whole Fahrenheit scale and basic facts of life — like the temperature at which water freezes, for instance, or basic human body temperature, which, to refresh your memory, Katy, is about 60+ degrees more than the temperature of frozen sugar water. Even this non-daisy-duke-wearing, Jeep-less Kentucky girl can melt Popsicles with her hotness.

Also, to answer your near constant query: No, I do not sometimes feel like a plastic bag. That was just that weird dude in American Beauty, and he was clearly a nascent school shooter. Way to date yourself and reiterate your complete lack of relevance!

<3 jessi

Dear Enrique,

I’m pretty sure that there is no amount of prefacing you can do to make the assertion, “Tonight I’m fucking you,” somehow NOT rude as fuck. And creepy.

You know, your repertoire has pretty much evolved in exactly the same way as my experience of clubbing. You used to be the guy who would say ridiculous borderline-terrifying stuff like, “I’ll take away the pain,” and yet, you were hot and I was young and I’d think, “Well, he’s a lameass, but I’ll still hit it.” Now you’re the guy who I’d NEVER leave my drink near unattended. Because seriously, dude, with pick up lines like that and your total skeeziness (you did a song with Pitbull, dude!), how else could you possibly be planning to get in my pants?

Sincerely,

Jessi

Dear Kesha,

Oh, Kesha… dancing “like” you’re dumb? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?

Also, I kind of love your voice. Please stop singing shitty songs and wearing fucking headdresses and basically being who you are and doing everything you usually do so I can like you.

<3 jessi