She’s Only Seventeen.
Dear James Franco,
I grew tired of writing to you, so I took a one-year vacation. I’m back now because you screwed up. See, I wrote a contract to myself three years ago when I started this blog. I agreed that I’d make your fortunes and misfortunes my opportunity. I’m heartless and shallow. I realized this a year ago, and stopped writing. I couldn’t live myself.
That’s a lie. The truth is I’m ambivalent about your literary career, and therefore have nothing to say.
I got dental surgery this week, I had an infection running from the nerves in my teeth all the way up into my sinuses. My brain has been altered because of the infection. The ethical and self-critical part of me, which has kept me away form this blog, has decayed. Now, without any shame, I’m back in gossip-mode, capitalizing on your woes in order to attract upwards of seven people to this blog.
Here’s what I have to say about you being creepy, and how to get yourself out of trouble. Show the world the diversity of your affections. You need to bang a senior citizen. Climb up in that ass, as they say. Hit that shit, as they say. No, I’m not being insensitive here, because I’m not talking about your normal senior, someone just recently over the hill, but, rather, an impossibly great-great-great-grandmother, a woman older than coal… she’s got to have a bent hairpin posture, her skin has to look like a sun-bleached curtain that’s been eaten up by moths over the last fifty decades. Someone who wouldn’t be offended by this post; instead, she’d say, “Thank you Don for enticing that fine young man to fornicate with me. He’s certainly the fountain of youth! I feel so much better about myself, and I want nothing more to stick around for another decade.”
You like the internet. Here are some hook-up-with-seniors websites:
I also suggest you do the rumpy-pumpy with a dude. Look, I can view the search terms that have led people to my blog. Some of them are outrageous and absurd, like, “What is the song that makes Kirsten Dunst fart.” I have no idea why my blog was suggested for that inquiry. But I’ll tell you this: I see many, many search terms that indicate male erotic fascination over you. Half of them have to do with dudes who have a James Franco foot fetish. So why not let a guy suck your toes?
See, widening the scope of your sex life will work better than claiming your recent activity was performance art or research for a role you’re going to play in a film. Nobody will believe that. If you apologize publicly for your behavior, people will immediately think it’s an insincere gesture. If you blame it on drugs (“I’d taken Ambien, and I don’t remember doing it”) and go to rehab, the world will wait for you to relapse (though, your familiarity with the 12-Steps and the Big Book of AA, as seen in your recent novel, have made me raise my brow). If you find Buddhism and denounce desire, we’ll think you’re a quack… that you’re going through a Madonna-finds-Kabbalah phase. These are all predictable, celebrity-in-trouble moves. What we wouldn’t expect is for you to go on a nation-wide fucking spree, one in which even the cows aren’t safe. Consider this hypothetical headline: “James Franco Sleeps with Everyone and Everything.” Case closed. You can’t argue with that. The people who voice moral outrage will be trumped by the hordes expressing their fascination. Everyone will think big-picture and ask one another, “What did James Franco fuck today?” rather than responding to an isolated incident: “I can’t believe James tried to hook up with a minor.”
Do it James. Open your legs for all of us.
If you’re going to dismiss my suggestion, at the very least I can offer some solace with a link to this old, old, rock video.