Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Samantha Brick, not so slick...
Yesterday, on what started out as a relatively normal day for you, 'The Daily Fail' posted yet another article that has swirled up a crazy Internet storm, one that I just couldn't wait to get involved in. I like me the chance to voice my opinion, although unfortunately, I wasn't so keen on yours. Having seen your name all over my Twitter feed, I began reading your article with eager curiosity, and ended it with my head in my chubby hands. Over 24 hours later, I'm still cringing on your behalf, which has lead me to write you this.
I'm a firm believer that confidence is gold dust. My body is more rabbit hutch than temple, and due to my terrible habit of declaring that I am the South East's answer to Shrek, I really admire a lady who is completely comfortable in her own skin. However, there is a fine line between confidence and nauseating narcissism, and I'm afraid, Ms Brick-not-so-slick, you seem to have overstepped this mark. In fact, you haven't just overstepped it, you've sprinted miles beyond it in the fashion of a hyperactive donkey chasing a carrot.
I'll give it to you, you're a reasonably attractive woman. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you look like a bulldog chewing a wasp. I thought that comment, left on 'The Daily Fail' website was fairly harsh. After all, while you're definitely not my type (I prefer my humans male and dishy), I can understand why men of a certain calibre may find you alluring. However, please remember that not every single act of kindness you have received from a stranger has been down to them possessing an uncontrollable urge to ravish you. I'd probably offer you a digestive if you were hungry, but I can assure you I'm not interested in groping your tatty-bo-jangles or stealing a cheeky kiss. Fair play, the captain of that plane may well have been hoping you'd stagger to his cabin to deliver a mid-flight, champagne fuelled bl*w job, but there are also a lot of people in this world who are just nice, and would still have helped had you been born with walrus features, acne, and shit hair.
Samantha, I can assure you that women do not hate you because you're beautiful. We're all guilty of sarcastically uttering the word 'bitch' at our more aesthetically pleasing friends on a night out, or whilst prodding the fantastic, planet-sized breasts of a scantily clad woman in a magazine, but it's usually a prod of light-hearted envy. Did you tell Julie that her husband looked like a tranny, or spit out that muffin that Claudia's six year old daughter made you? Or did you 'flirt to get ahead at work', and flash your boss a quarter of your vaginal region to secure that promotion? These are the kind of things that might get you excluded from a social circle. The personality disorder possibly hasn't helped either, and quite evidently, your conceited, self-absorbed, deluded attitude hasn't done you too many favours.
I shall end this letter by congratulating you on writing one of the most bizarre articles I have ever read in my life, and by reminding you that beauty starts from within. That deliciously slim waist of yours doesn't count for much when you're an utter moron. It's no surprise that you weren't involved in your friend's birthday snap last year. How on earth was the photographer going to get all of those people and your brobdingnagian ego in the same shot?!
Kathy B (a shorter, fatter, uglier version of yourself...)
PS: brobdingnagian is my new 6th favourite word. Thanks Sammy B.
PPS: One Direction's 'What makes you beautiful' was so wasted on you.
PPPS: I'm not writing this because 'I hate you 'cos I ain't you'. You'd better believe it.