Dear Ms. Bynes,
What happened to you, girl? It seems like just yesterday you were bobbing around in a black wig calling yourself “Amanda’s Biggest Fan” and capturing our hearts with your girlish charm. Now, ever since you retired from acting, I’ve been hearing stories about your “crazy” antics and unusual Twitter updates and frankly, I’m getting worried.
First, there was that story about you wandering around Times Square with a shirt over your head. I want to believe that you were giving us a preview of that new fashion line you’ve been gushing about but something tells me that’s not the case. Judging from Justin Bieber’s odd gas mask outing last month, I’m beginning to think there’s something dangerous in the air that only a select few celebrities are being told about. If this is true, you can totally tell me! I know I’m not officially part of that weird cult you people call “fame”, but with the amount of celebrity gossip that I consume, I’m basically on the waiting list. (And if you can’t tell me here for privacy reasons, don’t worry. I’ll just keep tabs on Oprah for the next few weeks and if I see her donning some sort of “face scarf,” I’ll be sure to take the hint.) I’m also the best secret keeper around. I even have a black belt in pinkie-promises. Your secret’s safe with me.
And let’s address your recent Twitter posts, shall we? A few weeks ago, after calling yourself “pudgy” in one of your selfie Twit Pics, you went onto say that you were “feeling fresh” in the exact same outfit? Then, you tweeted something along the lines of, “I want Drake to do some NSFW things to my wobbly bits.” (I have censored this tweet to prevent my own loss of innocence.) Let’s get this out in the open: everybody has their needs, whether they want to admit them or not. However, just because your Twitter page is sitting open when your needs strike does not mean you should share them with the world. If that were the case, Twitter would be a very inappropriate place.
I also don’t know if anyone told you, but flash is not required to take a picture. I realize it might be dark in your apartment/mansion/underground lair but there are lamps for that. As much as I like staring directly into white lights, I would prefer to see at least half of the 1,000 selfies you upload to Twitter each week. Of course, this is all assuming that you are allowed to photograph yourself in a mirror and are not, in fact, a vampire. If I have assumed incorrectly, I apologize for my insensitivity and will bring you a dead buffalo within the hour to rectify my mistake.
Lastly, we have to discuss your drinking problem. I know being famous is hard but that doesn’t mean you are exempt from the consequences of breaking the law (and if you believe you are, you’ve been talking to Ms. Lohan too much). Here’s what I don’t understand about your situation: if you wanted to, you could construct an entire house out of 100 dollar bills and, upon its completion, still have enough money to buy yourself 20 private jets or 2 One Direction concert tickets. And yet, not once have you considered hiring your own personal limo driver to chauffeur you around Los Angeles after you’ve been drinking. Isn’t that what every 26-year-old girl wants? To go out for a night on the town and not have to worry about how you’re getting back home? Tell me, ‘Manda. You are the expert on what girls want after all. (Get it? I made a What A Girl Wants pun. I think we’re having a moment. I can feel it!)
I know we haven’t talked in awhile. You stopped answering my letters 7 years ago and I moved on to watching iCarly and Hannah Montana so it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. But even though we’re not as close as we used to be, I just want you to know that I’ll always support you because I know that, deep down, like, really deep down, probably at the bottom of some crack in the Earth somewhere, the old Amanda Bynes is still alive and kicking, wandering around the Nickelodeon studios screaming, “I have to meet Amanda!” I’m sure whatever phase you’re going through is temporary and in a matter of years, you will emerge as the brightest, funniest, least cray-cray sounding ex-child actor on the planet.
In the meantime, bring out the dancing lobsters!
– A Confused (Non-Creepy) Admirer