Dear Paris:

Uh oh, here we go again. Just when I thought you’d gone all saintly and were off spreading goodwill and Chlamydia through African orphanages… or whatever you claimed you were going to start doing after your last bout in jail, more drug allegations hit! Say it isn’t so Paris; Ye Ole Patron Saint of Sex Tapes, say it isn’t so!?

Whether you’re battling weed charges at the World Cup or cocaine charges in Las Vegas I want to let you know that I’ve got your back. That’s right, I stand behind that flat, lily-white, non-existent, poor excuse for a pooper that you call a butt (you know, maybe if you had more of an ass you’d have been as famous as Kim Kardashian by now. She has a crack that makes the Grand Canyon jealous and her sex tape WAY outperformed yours). I, like the rest of America, know that you are a privileged brat who will never face any real consequences for her actions as well as never offer anything to society that we won’t need a prescription drug to treat however, I support you.

Why you ask? I have respect for my elders and although I’m technically older than you, I haven’t blazed quite the trail that you have. You were the start of the celebutard movement. It’s yours and Nicole Richie’s exploits as rich, spoiled, caviar infused dumps that paved way for the rest of the no-talent having reality twits we get to watch on a daily basis. Nicole however got all pregnant and decided to effort a life where cameras don’t follow her around while she laughs at poor people and pontificates about the trials of being born rich and white, in a country that is run by rich, white people. Yeah, she’s all grown up, a reformed skank. You on the other hand continue to be a hard-partying mattress and I love it. This letter is just to urge you to never give up! Don’t be stupid and decide to make your legacy worth something more than a tragically average porno tape, a rap sheet and an itchy-burning sensation that seems to take days out of your life (that’s STD reference number three if you’re counting). You’re almost 30 and still going strong. You’re the OG of party sluts and you need to keep it that way. One day I dream of seeing the Vegas nightclub circuit you currently work turn into appearances at random Nevada rest homes. I can picture it now. Just and 80-years-old you, in the corner of a retirement home cafeteria requesting songs from a makeshift DJ booth constructed from Ensure bottles and used Depends. You’d be wearing one of your patented “oops, the paparazzi accidentally got a picture of my vagina” miniskirts, except at this point the length of the skirt won’t matter as the years of abuse your labia has suffered would make that thing sag more than an actor’s guild. Every ten minutes you and your geriatric gaggle of floozies would hop on your walkers and head to the bathroom where you’d chop up lines of Metamucil and decide which ancient dude you’re going to let dry hump you in a hospital bed. My only hope is that eventually I’ll be one of the dudes because let’s face it. No matter what, you’re still pretty hot AND at that age, I won’t care what kind of creepy crawlies my junk will contract from that cesspool between your thighs. (STD joke #4, count it).

The point is, never decide to grow up. You don’t need to. You’ve got money, enablers and plastic surgeons. Getting older and more responsible is for poor people and NOBODY wants to be a poor people.

Love,
Jubal

P.S. Herpes (YES!!! NUMBER 5 BABY! STD JOKES RULE!)

Dear MTV:

I saw today that Mike “The Situation” is set to make $5 million dollars this year. Let me just say how amazing it is that you are able to turn completely non-talented doucheroos into major, wealthy celebrities. I don’t know if it is more of a testament to your ability to exploit attention whores or America’s eagerness to stare at Technicolor feces on their TV’s for hours on end. Either way, keep up the good work. Eff you Leonardo DiCaprio, eat a bowl of dicks Jeff Bridges and go adopt a life Angelina Jolie! You guys are suckers! Working hard at your craft, studying and rehearsing. Idiots. You all should’ve spent less time on the arts and more time on your “abs” and you’d have been famous in half the time it took you. Hard work is for idiots!

That; MTV, is why I’m writing. I’d like $5 million dollars too. Hell, I’ll even take $500,000. Actually at this point I’d do it for free. What I want from you is my own reality show. I swear I’d be perfect. I have the ability to be a D-bag of epic proportions, I’m belligerently drunk more often than I am sober and I don’t mind sleeping with ugly chicks. Oh, and I should probably mention that I’m an attention whore. If given the opportunity I could but Spencer Pratt to shame. Why, I’d punch my own mom in the face if it meant a few more ticks on my 15-minute fame clock. You need me.

That being said, here are a few show ideas I had:

1 – (obviously) “Jubal Shore”: It’s basically a rip of “Jersey Shore” minus the height, abs and boobs. There would still be a ton of drinking only it would be me, drinking by myself in hopes of washing away my personal problems. Your camera crew would follow me from bar to bar as I took shots of whiskey until getting kicked out for either puking on or groping a girl who is way too hot and way too young for me. Eventually after striking out, I’d walk down the street to my apartment cussing at passers by and threatening them to fights uttering the phrase “you think you’re better than me”. Then I’d make it up to my apartment where I’d fire up my computer and drunkenly masturbate while sobbing like a little girl. Eventually I’d even be unsuccessful at that and pass out on my floor, naked, in a pool of my own urine and shame.

2 – “16 and Pregnant”: The plot for this is really quite simple. I’d go around attempting to get 16-year-olds pregnant. Not just regular 16-year-olds though, celebrities. Think about it; me, a turkey baister and the key to Miley Cyrus’s house. Comedy gold. This show might get cancelled early though when a very judgy Chris Hansen intervenes. Man that guy is a killjoy.

3 – “The Real World: Jubal Flagg”: In this candid look at life we’ll dissect the true “real world”. The world of everyday disappointments and self-loathing. Actually, come to think of it, it would be a lot like “Jubal Shore”. Just me, sitting in a bar taking shots of whiskey and complaining about my life until I’d eventually go home and weep while rubbing one out and pass out on my floor, naked, in a pool or my own urine and shame.

Basically MTV what you are lacking is realness. You need to ad a little tearful masturbation to your lineup and I’m that guy. So please, give me a call and let’s take over the world. Until then I’ll be preppin’ my V-necks and doin’ my sit-ups.

Love,
Jubal

P.S. If you could hook up a J-Woww nip-slip sometime soon that would be great too.

Dear Montana:

How are you? Probably sore I’d guess… with your busy schedule of being thunder pounded for publicity and all. Who knew that when I first heard the name Montana Fishburne it would be because you’ve had more people pass through you then Helena, Montana? Good work! Listen; you’ve been taking a lot of criticism lately and I want to tell you that I’ve got your back (and believe me, I’ve seen clips from “Phattys, Rhymes and Dimes 14″, so I know what that entails). I do though; you’re a great American for following your dreams. Since your father is a pretty respected actor you could’ve taken the easy way to success, but did you? Hell no! You took the HARD way (pun totally intended). Don’t let the disparaging comments get you down. Well, unless you were already planning on going down then, proceed as planned. I don’t understand why everyone is judging you. You’re just capitalizing on the God given interest bearing checking account between your legs. I’ve said it a million times; if used correctly a vagina isn’t a vagina… it’s a business opportunity. I mean, if I had a decent set of beef curtains I’d be a millionaire by now so get your money girl. I actually think you should exploit your dad’s success all the way and start releasing porno films inspired by his movies. Here’s a list of possible titles and brief synopsis’s. You can thank me later:

Boyz N MY Hood: Basically you get pummeled by meat whistles on a Compton street corner. All of the money shots in this movie will be drive-by of course.

Balls Deep Cover: You go undercover as a classy virgin in an attempt to uncover their dirty side. Once on the inside of the classy virgins who are ruining your city you realize that you’re starting to like that lifestyle. You’re torn between the world of wholesome and skankdom until you finally find that skank is your true identity and you start fucking EVERYBODY. All of the money shots in this will happen when you’re exposed for wearing a wire.

(Triliogy) The Matrix, The Matrix Big-Loaded and The Matrix Penetrations: Your character is so talented with vibrators that a group of sexual freedom fighters contact you to go inside a complex dildo and fight against sex machines as they try to take over the world. This will basically be a solo movie featuring you getting more plastic shoved inside you than Heidi Montag.

Akeelah and the Bee-itches: In this girl-on-girl story of triumph the only words getting spelled will be “Oh” and “Yeah”. Definition: hornytown!

Those are just a few examples of what I have planned for your flourishing career in the porno industry. Also, free of charge, I’ll audition some of the ladies on my very own casting couch. Just give me a call and we can discuss.

Oh, one more thing. The next time your dad starts giving you a bad time about getting mansacked in front of the camera; remind him that he once played the perverted sex fiend “Cowboy Curtis” on “Pee-wee’s Playhouse”. Seriously, the way that jheri-curled-mullet wearing degenerate chased Miss Yvonne around is way more shameful than any public Rodgering you could ever receive.

Love,
Jubal

P.S. How ironic is it that your last name contains the words “Fish” and “Burn”? Two things that can be directly associated with your naughty bits!

Dear Levi and Bristol:

I hear you’re breaking up again, and this time for good!? Please say it isn’t so. You two have become the gold standard for white trash relationships in America and we need you.

Bristol: ever since your nincompoop mother was catapulted to political stardom by a senile (and probably horny) John McCain we’ve watched you grow from a young, pregnant skank into a slightly older skank with a kid. I mean, had that judgmental windbag you like to call mom NOT been involved in politics, chances are we would’ve seen you duking it out with another one of Levi’s baby-mommas on Maury. I can see it now “My Mom’s a Bigoted Beauty Queen and I’m Pregnant”. Good for you though, you turned your accidental pregnancy and even bigger political blunder into a moneymaking opportunity. You’ve been on the cover of every worthless gossip rag, somehow you’ve convinced people to pay you for public speaking – even though you don’t seem to have a clear message or stance on teen pregnancy and, until that jerk Levi got another mentally unsatisfactory harlot pregnant you HAD a reality show. Kudos to you Bristol, or is it shame on America for allowing you to have a voice when all you did was trust a mouth-breather like Levi to pull out on time?

Levi: I used to feel sorry for you. It was obvious that the Palin’s were holding you against your will in order to further their political aspirations… that was until I realized what a douchenozzle you are. When you slipped and fell into Bristol you won the white trash lottery. All you had to do was keep it in your pants, or hell, just put a sock on the pickle and not get someone else pregnant. Jesus. I know that reading probably isn’t your strong suit, but damn man condom directions come in illustrations. Figure it out. All you had to do was pretend to be happy with Bristol and you could’ve had a reality show that’s content would’ve rivaled the mind-numbing feces that spews from the Kardashians ever week. You blew it (literally and figuratively) and now you’re going to lose out on solidifying your Z-list reality celebrity status. Brett Michaels doesn’t approve.

The real reason I’m writing is to beg you two to get back together for the good of the youth of America. You see when people enter into a dysfunctional relationship, especially when there’s kids involved, the American way is to stay together for a while. Let your little tard in training grow up in a house where both his parents sleep in separate bedrooms and wince when they kiss each other. Do that for 10 years or so, and then get a divorce. Don’t leave before things get worse. We’re Americans, we aren’t quitters. Do the right thing and stay together long enough to despise every fiber of one another’s being. Wait until you can’t look at each other without fantasizing about how sweet the insurance money would be. “All I have to do is just trip her when she’s walking down the stairs, no one would know, right?”. Once you get to that point, then you can break up. Do it right, waste your life like most of the marriages in this country. Plus a reality show featuring you too simpletons trying to raise a kid would be amazing. It would make me feel better about my life. “Man I’m a loser, OH WAIT! The Bristol and Levi show is on. Yeah, never mind I’m awesome”. Sure, it would have as much socially redeeming value as a queef, but who cares? So you need to do us all a favor and reconcile. America needs your reality show for our collective self-esteem.

Sincerely,

Jubal

P.S. How much redeeming social value do queefs have anyway?

Dear Lindsay,

Orale you finally got locked up ay? Good for you homegirl, now you’re down! I hope you’re adjusting to life in pen, it’s pretty fun huh? I’ll always remember the first time I got locked up, it still brings a tear to my eye… mostly because that’s when I got my first teardrop tattoo. But anyways now that you’re down we gotta make sure that you get your respeto! Don’t let any of those big lesbian hynas push you around ay. If you show fear the next thing you know you’ll be crying yourself to sleep on some big sweaty chicas chest pillows ay. What I mean is your face is gonna be buried in her tits whether you like it or not homegirl! You don’t want to end up being somebody’s bitch. Trust me ay, my primo had his shit pushed in before and he’s never been the same. Don’t get me wrong, I know that when it comes to dining, you prefer eating out, but I’m just saying you gotta be the one to do the choosing ay.

Real quick I wanted to give you a couple tips on how to survive when you’re locked up.

1 – Sharpen your toothbrush. Serio girl start right away. Rub it on the ground until it becomes pointy. Now you have yourself a shank.

2 – Once you have made your toothbrush shank you need to practice this line (this should be easy for you since you are an actress. Well, kind of an actress. Well okay, a really bad actress. But still, try it anyway: “What are you lookeen at bitch, you don’t know me! I’ll shank you in the back ay!”. Practice, practice, practice. You’re gonna need to say that a lot for sure.

3 – Always eat with your arms real close to your sides ay. That way nobody can sneak up beside you and shank you in the side. Also when you’re eating and you spill some mash potatoes on your chin, don’t lick it off… it’ll give the other clam-munchers in there ideas ay.

4 – Get a tattoo homegirl. I know you have a few, but the ones you have are stupid ay. You need something gangster like a “smile now, cry later” on your chest. Or maybe a classic teardrop. Or a tattoo of the Virgin Mary stabbing some fool who was talking trash. Basically you need something to let people know you ain’t no punk ay.

5 – Give up your stupid attempts at pop music, and start rapping. Now that you’ve got a ghetto pass you need to use it. Start spitting rhymes about how hard life is behind bars and how when you get out, all you’re gonna do is get high make it rain on them hoes.

6 – You should also learn from the other cholas in there ay and start doing your makeup differently. Shave off your eyebrows and start drawing them on, you know so you look surprised/angry all the time. It would also be a good idea to use an eyeliner pencil to draw your lips on so you look like a hood version of Betty Boop.

7 – Give yourself a gangster nickname. Something simple like “La Freckles”, “La Skanky”, “La Sometimes I like Chicks and Sometimes I Like Dudes “La Doesn’t Deserve To Be A Celebrity”, “La My Career Died After Herbie Fully Loaded”. You get it, something that represents yourself.

Well chica you keep your head up and sleep with one eye open okay. You’ll be alright and if you end up getting stabbed and going to that big whorehouse in the sky, don’t worry about it… you’ll be doing us all a favor anwyways.

Alrato,

Little Puppet

P.S. I hope you smuggled enough crack in your butt.

Dear Lindsay:

Would you please stop doing stuff so I can write to someone else? You know for a chick who doesn’t work, you’re awful busy. I needed to write to you because it looks like my last letter, about you never going to jail, was completely wrong. The long arm of the law finally decided to use its stretchy hand and smack some of the freckles off your face. I know, I know, in that last letter I mentioned that I would not be making fun of you anymore. I should’ve also mentioned that I’m a liar . . . and you are a whore (God that felt good, why did I ever stop ripping you?).

I have to say, watching you get sentenced gave me a boner the size of the Sears Tower (okay, a REALLY, REALLY small replica of the Sears Tower, but a boner nonetheless). Seeing you squirm while giving your attorney that “how can they do this to me” look is probably the most satisfied I’ve been in a long time. It felt almost as good as when I had that dream about Salma Hayek, a melon baller and Sneezy from the Seven Dwarfs, but that’s another issue for another time.

I do want to tell you to relax though; you’re only getting a 90-day sentence. You can do that time standing on your head, hell, I’m sure you’ve had coke binges that have lasted 10 times that long. Lord knows you’ve DEFINITELY had yeast infections that have. Who knows, you might actually really like jail. You can’t honestly tell me that communally showering with scarred up lesbians doesn’t turn you on just a bit, or that the possibility of a shanking ending up in an intense scissor fight doesn’t get you all hot and bothered can you? I do want to encourage you to use your time correctly and productively though. Your days behind bars should be ones of reflection. Look inside yourself (figuratively, not literally) and think about what events led you to this point. Then, when you’ve identified the problem quickly deflect it and blame it on someone else. You’re Lindsay Lohan! You’re famous! You’ve done nothing wrong, you couldn’t possibly have! Doesn’t the court know that you once starred opposite a VW Bug in a horrible remake? Obviously this stupid judge wasn’t one of the six people who saw your masterful performance in “I Know Who Killed Me”. That’s right, I’m telling you to stay strong and keep playing the victim role . . . a role that you play ALMOST less convincingly than any movie character you’ve ever played. Deflect, deflect, deflect! Don’t give in and start to realize that maybe, just maybe, your own selfish actions have caused you to be behind bars. No, continue to live you’re beautiful (and with a face like yours I use the term loosely), beautiful lie. If you need proof that you aren’t respected in Hollywood, just look at who has come to your aid. NOBODY (well, I think Kim Kardashian tweeted something in support of you, but she still constitutes a nobody. Just a nobody with an extremely huge ass). That should tell you what you’re worth. You got caught with drugs and drove recklessly while intoxicated. Roman Polanski on the other hand, butt-raped a teenage girl and actors come out in droves to protect him. You work in a screwed up land and in an even more messed up business where people believe that your craft defines you. Well, if that’s true, and nobody is outraged by you going to jail then you should realize that you have no credibility as an artist or legitimate celebrity anymore. You’ve just become a normal, everyday crackhead. The kind that gets jail sentences.

In complete honesty I really do hope you can get your shit together. Not because I want to see you act again, I rather enjoy you not skanking up my movie experience. I want to see you be triumphant. I really do. In your current incarnation I hate you and everything you stand for, but you are human and it would be awesome to see you pull yourself up from the gutter you’ve been living in. I’d like to see you beat the odds . . . which right now are stacked heavily in premature death’s favor. I’m pretty positive that with the crapbag parents you’ve been handed and the sleezeburger friends you’re surrounded with there is no hope for you. You’ll probably come out of jail and instantly get back to shoving your face in piles of coke and random women’s laps, but I hope for your sake you can find the strength to overcome your demons. I want you to claw, and scratch and fight your way back to being somewhat “do-able” again.

Sincerely,

Jubal

P.S. If you need help learning to smuggle things in your vaj call me. I’m pretty good at putting stuff in those.

Dear Lindsay:

You’re no doubt hold up in a crack den somewhere right now frantically trying to chisel your SCRAM anklet off by taking hacks at it with one of your $3,000 designer stilettos, pausing only briefly to suck on that glass dick and exclaim to the world that your haters should just “let you live”. I get it my freckled strumpet, I get it. I used to put myself in that group of people that you’d refer to as a “hater”. I was one of those people who was always like “Lindsay needs to check herself because if she keeps partying like this she’s headed toward an early grave”… how naïve of me. I apologize. I realize now that you, your mom and your hangers-on are correct. You’re not in trouble; you’re just a normal A-list (wow, that’ may be the first time I’ve written something and legitimately ROFLed) twenty-something who’s just misunderstood. All you’re really doing on a nightly basis is blowing off steam from a stressful workday right? (Oh wow, make that real life ROFL number 2!).

I’m writing you this letter to inform you that I am done ridiculing you. That’s right, no more cracks about how I’d rather have sex with a box of razors than experience you carnally. No more jokes about you getting in scissor fights with Samantha Ronson. I’m retiring any reference to you and that cornucopia of STD’s that you call a vagina. I’m officially done ripping you. That’s right Lindsay; I’ve changed my tune. Now I just want to party with you. You see, I enjoy going out, getting belligerent and making bad decisions and, up until this point I thought I was a pro. Obviously I’ve been sadly mistaken and I want to learn from you, the Jedi mistress of crapulent malfeasance. Teach me how to take a budding movie career and flush it down the toilet like it were an empty coke baggy in a nightclub bathroom while laying the responsibility on everyone else. Taking ownership of one’s shortcomings is so last decade, let’s just do all the drugs and blame “US Weekly”! I want you to show me the ropes. My partying days although lengthy haven’t been nearly as exciting as yours. I’ve only been in two or three bloody hotel lobby brawls. I’ve NEVER had a good enough time to steal a car with three people inside of it and drunkenly chase down my assistant at speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour. There’s only been one occasion I can remember where I taunted and threw vodka glasses at my DJ ex-girlfriend’s dome. Teach me! I want to know it all, even that bowling ball through the water hose trick I’ve heard so much about. The best part about partying with you? I’ll NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER get in any trouble! I don’t know how you do it Linds, you’re BARELY a celebrity anymore, and have all the social graces of a schizophrenic homeless lady with a bad case of poop Tourette’s, but somehow the law is still so impressed with you that you’ll not in your life see the inside of a jail cell or a successful rehab clinic. It would be amazing to party without any repercussions. So yeah, give me a call because I need to party with you before you DO see the inside of a casket.

Love,
Jubal

P.S. Yes, I said poop Tourrette’s.

I’ve posted a couple things about it but haven’t officially devoted a blog to it. So, here it is… my new DVD “Parlor Tricks” is done and ready for sale (CLICK HERE). It’s 45 minutes of hilarity filmed at the Parlor Live in Bellevue, WA. I’m really proud of this and know that you’ll enjoy it. When you buy it and watch it, send me a review. I’m interested in your feedback, good or bad. Send me a note when you get it and I’ll sign it for you… who knows I might even throw in a pair of my used undies.

Here’s a short teaser for it:

Thanks to everyone who was involved in getting this DVD done: The Parlor Live, Joel Telling, the people who paid to see me and of course my dad for not pulling out.

P.S. Chase Roper, a writer for punchlinemagazine.com and a very funny guy himself will be reviewing it at some point (basically when I get off my lazy ass and send it to him.) Be on the lookout for that, unless the review sucks then I won’t mention anything about it.

I Love You,

Jubal

Here’s the newest episode of the Big Nutz Show with myself and Nate Jackson! Become a friend of ours on Podomatic.com!

Here’s the newest episode of the Big Nutz Show with myself and Nate Jackson! Become a friend of ours on Podomatic.com!