What I Did During Summer Vacation

Love,

Bill

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Dear Mr. President,

You disgusting, dirty old man. Please stop calling me. Please stop texting me. Please stop writing me. I'm a happily married woman now.

I'll see you Saturday night.

Monica Lewinsky

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Dear Oprah,

I love you. I want you. I must have you. I no longer want Portia, I want you. My summer is empty and lonely without you in my bed.

Ellen

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Dear Ellen,

How many times must I tell you that I'm not lesbian? I'm happy with Stedman...and Gayle King. Just because the three of us sleep in the same bed with Stedman on one side of me and Gayle on the other side of me doesn't mean that I'm lesbian. I just like keeping my friends close.

Yet, if you insist, meet tonight at midnight. We'll discuss your attraction to me. Come by the way of the servants' entrance. You know how the Paparazzi make up stories to go with their photos. Al Qaeda could learn a few things from them, they're everywhere.

Oprah

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Dear Jennifer,

I'm so very sorry. I made a tragic mistake. I still love you. I still need you. I still want you in my life. I miss your tits. My summers are not the same without seeing you parade around in front of the paparazzi in your itsy bitsy, teenie weenie bikini.

Brad

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Dear Brad,

I guess you're not happy with your tit-less wife, Angelina, huh?

Please stop calling me, texting me, and writing me. I've moved on to Adam Duritz, Tate Donovan, Paul Rudd, Vince Vaughn, Paul Sculfor, Orlando Bloom, Owen Wilson, Aaron Eckhart, John Mayer, Gerard Butler, and finally Justin Theroux, my fiancée.

Rumors that I'm a whore are greatly exaggerated. With the jury still out, actually, even though I'm engaged, I'm still dating.

Yet, if only for old time's sake, I'll meet you at our usual place this Saturday. Don't forget to bring the monkey and wear a kangaroo suit. You know how much I like that. I'll wear my usual latex outfit. Maybe later we can go to our favorite, private nude beach. I'll place an anonymous call to the Paparazzi beforehand as to where we'll be.

Jennifer

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Dear Oprah,

Seriously? Thirty-eight thousand dollars for a Jennifer Aniston inspired pocketbook as a birthday gift for Tina Turner? Are you kidding me? How the Hell old is that bitch anyway? I didn't know she was a Leo. With me being a Leo too, born July 26th, we both share the same astrological sign. Yuck!

Anyway, back to the pocketbook. Are you kidding me? Seriously, what's wrong with you? Are you nuts? Have you lost your touch with reality?

If it's not bad enough that the pocketbook cost thirty-eight thousand dollars, enough to feed, clothe, and house a family of five for a year, the pocketbook is made from alligator. Alligator! Alligator? Have you no sense of shame? Have you no decency? Is money controlling everything that you do?

The pocketbook was probably made in some sweatshop in Bangladesh or somewhere in Indonesia. How dare you endorse slave labor by buying such an extravagant pocketbook to give to a woman who has everything? And, in the way of Shania Twain, how dare you give credence to a woman who just denounced her American citizenship to live in Switzerland?

Besides, I thought making anything from alligator was illegal. The PETA people must be harassing you over this blunder.

Susan Jill Parker

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Dear Susan Jill Parker,

I read your profile and saw your photo. You are as enchanting as you are beautiful. You're so adorable when you're angry.

Gayle and I are big fans. We have read every one of your stories. We read your stories while lazing in bed, if you know what I mean.

Enclosed is a plane ticket to the Santa Barbara airport. My driver will meet you there to drive you to my house. Sorry but I must ask you to use the servants' entrance. You know how it is. The Paparazzi takes photos and people talk.

Oprah

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