- First off, notoriety does not equal talent. You may well have better box office - however briefly - because you simulated sex with a stuffed animal, but that works exactly once, leading eventually to simulating sex with live animals. After that, for the sake of a gig and some attention, you stop simulating.
- Before you attempt another dance like the one you did, or for that matter any public exhibition of your body, you might want to wait until your boobs come in, and maybe wait for some hips too. Seriously, there's a reason you are now number one on the Pedophile search engines across the world, and it's because from the neck down you look like a ten year old girl. And until the blessed day that you get through puberty, I'd work on some muscle tone as well. There is absolutely no excuse for a person of your advantages to have flab, much less require Spanx to hold in your gut.
- Never. Dance. Again. No, seriously. I speak for humanity on this one. Not only can you not dance, you suck like Drunk Uncle at the wedding reception sucks, except that he at least practiced his stiff-assed moves the night before he hit the dance floor.
- If you're going to simulate sex on stage, it might be a good idea to go out and actually have some first, because darlin', what you were doing not only was not sexy, it wasn't sexual, as in: nobody moves like that during sex. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest you have your mother sit you down and give you The Talk, because you clearly don't know what your female parts are supposed to do.
- Put that tongue away, and under no circumstances should you use it to clean your own ass, just because you can.
- And while you're at it, could you please get your dad Billy Ray to shut up? Seriously, having your father waxing poetic about your awakening sexuality is creeping everybody out, including every Episcopalian minister I know; and as everybody knows Episcopalian clergy have a very high tolerance for that sort of thing.
- Stop telling us how awful Cocaine is and how awesome Pot and Ecstasy are; and no, we are not impressed that you know that Molly is a street name for X. That does not give you street cred. Nobody with a personal assistant will ever have street cred......unless of course, your boobs come in, your boyfriend sells your sex tape and you do some time in jail and rehab. Then you'll have street cred and you can talk about how discriminating your drug palate is until your teeth fall out or Rat Nose swallows your eyeballs, whichever comes first.
- Do something with your hair; that is: do something different than Justin Bieber. You look exactly like him. Come to think of it, please have your personal assistant call his personal assistant and work something out. Maybe y'all could each move halfway in a different direction. Until then, I cannot tell the two of you apart, and while it is not high on my list of priorities, for the sake of your career, it should be high on yours. Seriously, one of you is allegedly a man, but to look at the two of you, it's a coin toss.
- What the hell is up with your voice? You sound like Mercedes McCambridge at age 65, and you are only twenty. If it's an affectation, stop. If that is your real voice, you need some hormone replacement therapy, Stat.
- Burn your entire wardrobe and start over.
- Remember all the Wastrels who were where you are before you got there: Carrie Fisher, Lindsay Lohan, Amanda Bynes, Amy Winehouse. Check that last one. While like you and those others, Amy loved her drugs, Amy also had talent.
- Get yourself some new role models. You might want to set your sights a tad higher than Sinead O'Connor, whose sole shtick for going on two decades is to rail against the penis.
Finally, please never, ever appear on Dancing With The Stars. It is one of my favorite shows, and I don't want you fucking it up.
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