Dear J. Lo,
Go home and rest. You have no talent, and people are tired of you. No one cares about your spanish songs, and you look ridiculous dancing when you are finally pregnant. This is what you wanted for a long time, so spare all of us. Go home and surround yourself with your white lillies and candles, and have your ugly, boring, skelington husband fry you up some tacquitos or something. Get over yourself! Your boots are hideous, and so are your clothes. You can't sing.
Your friend,
Julie
