Dear Kimberly Stewart

Every time I see a photo of you I recoil in terror and disgust. It isn’t really because of your freakishly manly face, or your gangly legs and arms, or even the sight of your rib cage sticking out from your “cleavage” revealing shirts. It isn’t that you always look like a bag lady with your clothes draping off you like you’d should be lying on the ground with vultures hovering to pick your bones dry from the minute amount of skin and fat remaining.

It isn’t because you look like a drag queen whore, or that you look like a tacky(er) imitation of Paris Hilton. It isn’t even because your father is horribly ugly now, and that I only recently found out that when he was younger he looked just like my boyfriend, whom I happen to think is hot, which means I think Rod Stewart is hot. Ugh.

It’s because you are an utter pointless waste of space. I may even like TOOOOOM CRUISE! more than I like you and that’s saying something considering how I really, really hate TOOOOOM CRUISE!

I don’t want to see you in my shitty £1 weekly celeb rag. I don’t want to pay for that. I pay to see A-listers with cellulite at the beach and B-listers with their boobs popping out at awards shows. I do not pay to see a photo of you looking ugly with a Starbucks takeaway cup in your hand. I really don’t.

Please stop leaving the house,
The Editor