Dear Renée Zellweger

I was at the chiropractor’s the other day and for some reason they had some E! type show on about Sharon Stone and for some other reason you were talking about her on it. I don’t know why my chiropractor has a TV in their waiting room playing E!-esque shows, but the receptionist is kind of gay.

So, I’m getting my credit card out of my bag and suddenly there’s you. On the screen, above my head, really fucking big. I look at you and tell the gay receptionist how much I hate you. I can’t fucking stand you. You’re right at the top of my list of celebrities I depise.

I’ve never seen a movie where you’ve played a character that I hate, or remember really aside from that fatty Bridget Jones. I have no real reason for not liking you, but there is something about your horrible “Oooh, I’ve just stuffed my face with five lemons!” face and your disgusting anorexia/not anorexia look that makes me not able to stand the sight of you. I saw an picture someone drew a while ago of Renée Zellweger’s Extra Sour Lemons Candy. It made me laugh.

I also find it amusing how you jumped on the celebrity “we’ve got a bet for how quick we can get divorced” marriage bandwagon, especially to a flaming homosexual country singer. You must have had a really good win on that bet. How long could you possibly stay married to Kenny Chesney anyway? You were guaranteed to get a good payout off that one. I wish I’d chipped in.

Seeing you and your “Oooh!” face ruined my day at the chiropractor’s. That good damn “Oooh!” face. It’s just the “Oooh!” face. Stop doing it. Or keep doing it. It gives me something to hate and I enjoy hating.

Oooh!,
The Editor