Fake Advice to Celebrities Who Didn't Ask For It, Vol. 2
So, I've got this album coming out. I think it's going to be hot like lava, but I'm pretty worried that the bad press I'm getting is going to hurt sales. Yeah, you know, I'm a serial babymomma-leaver. And, word, it looked pretty bad when I missed my unfamous kid's first birthday party. But like, I thought it was pretty common knowledge that when your shit's about to blow up you don't waste your time with your shorties--you fan the muthafuckin' flames! Federline up, bitches! Imma sign my autograph on the Federline!
Sorry, you know, I'm just really excited about my album. It's gonna be huge. But how do I get people to notice I'm not a deadbeat dad, and that my fresh beats are rad?
Dear K-Fed Up,
Three words for you: Celebrity charity record. You think after "We Are The World" anybody remembered that Willie Nelson owed $16.7 million dollars in back taxes? Or, for that matter, that Dionne Warwick had been putting food on the table as an infomercial carnival barker for 900-number psychics? No. America knew--despite their creepy hair choices (Lionel Richie) or mustaches (Hall and Oates) or how over their careers were (LaToya, Marlon, Randy and Tito Jackson)--that they cared about the children starving in Africa, and that was all that mattered for, you know, like a couple of important Billboard weeks.
All you've got to do is organize some kind of celebrity charity record and you'll be golden, especially if the proceeds go to something like fatherless children of idiot mothers. The smokescreen will be impenetrable. I say you round up some comparably famous musicians (the Baha Men, Lou Bega, Inoj, etc.), and I'll get to work on your rap solo for the bridge of what's destined to be your stepping stone to platinum debut album sales:
This here's for all the babies without daddies
Eatin' Cheerios for dinner outta plastic baggies
So don't frown little shorty, it's gonna be a'ight,
Cause K-Fed gon'be there like an Elmo night light...
This is less a request for advice and more a chance for me to express my deep regret that I have broken into "it-girl" territory. I don't know how it happened. One minute you're living your typical, everyday, uber-rich life in a mansion on a cliff with a view of the ocean, and the next you're trying to keep the paparazzi out of your typical, everyday, uber-rich life in a mansion on a cliff with a view of the ocean. I don't even act! I can't even sing! I might not even have a high school diploma yet!
So, Kathy, television watching public, America at large: I apologize that I am hogging, like, two seats in the musical chair game of notoriety. I promise I will try to release an album or something. Even star in one of those celebrity poker tournaments. I swear I will come up with some sort of reason for my face to be all over the goddamn place.
Laguna Beach, CA
We will accept nothing less than a drunken sex tape. With someone old enough to be your father. Possibly, for example, your father.
Etiquette question: socially acceptable to adopt a rainbow of babies and make them walk in skin-tone order?
Just One Lady Interested in Eugenics
Babies are not Skittles.