Oh, Amy, you poor little train wreck of a woman.  That big voice of yours has created a big mess.  And now, with all the drama we’ve been reading about since the minute you and Blake Fielder-Civil laid bloodshot eyes on each other, you seem to actually be making an effort to get clean.  Again.

Didn't She Run The Orphanage in "Annie"?

Didn't She Run The Orphanage in "Annie"?

So off you ran to St. Lucia on vacation, where you met a rugby player and (of course) aspiring actor.  You must have still been high, Dear Amy, to think that he was attracted to you because of your body or your charm.  The whole world saw pictures of you scratching your, um, bikini area on a public beach, and your body looks like it is about 90, when you are only 25 years old.  Your beehive hairdo even looks tired.  Your black eyeliner is, literally, trying to run away.

And here’s this hot rugby player who we suddenly find out is an “aspiring actor”.

Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy.  How did you not see this coming?  Suddenly, every tabloid, every magazine, every newspaper is carrying photos of you in St. Lucia and talking about Josh Bowman, now upgraded to “upcoming” actor.  Before you and your drug-addled tush and drunken entourage arrived for vacation, no one knew—or cared—who this guy was.  He was about as “up and coming” an actor as the she-male who bags my groceries at the AM/PM, and now everyone has heard of him because of you.

Because of you, Amy, this no one has made himself into a someone.  At the same time as you are saying: “I’m in love again and I don’t need drugs.  Look at me, I’m glowing”, your new man is telling “The Sun” that you are “sweet—but just not my kind of girl”.

No offense, Amy, but…duh. 

Nonetheless, you happily report, as you drink yet another in a long series of fruity, tropical alcoholic beverages, that you are off drugs forever, that you would have died if you hadn’t gone on holiday to get clean, that your husband is less-than-stellar in bed, and that you are in love.  Also, regarding your husband, you said: “for the time being I’ve just forgotten I’m even married…I’ll deal with Blake when I get back”. 

Yeah, Sweet Amy, about that…

Blake saw the pictures, too, and now he’s gotten himself a divorce lawyer.  It doesn’t matter if Blake put the cocaine under your nostril and blew it into your head while you slept.  You’re still married to him and you haven’t done much to argue against his case for ‘adultery’. 

Do you remember, Beloved Drunken Amy, when you and Blake were so in love that he was going to convert to Judaism for you, but you couldn’t wait to get married so you did it very quickly in Miami while wearing a dress with little red anchors on it?  You and your new legal love Blake were snorting everything that you could find, and you happily chatted away about going to Tiffany’s to get your engagement ring re-sized after you lost too much weight.  Oh, yeah, and while you were there, you’d pick up wedding bands, which were absent at your spur of the moment ceremony.

Nothing good can come of this, easily-manipulated Amy.  This just in: Josh is now being called an “actor” and Blake is going to take half your money.

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