Let me begin by first proclaiming my undying love for all things You, and assure you that almost nothing on this planet could dim the light in my eyes that burns for you. I’ve been with you from early on when your star began shooting across the American skies back in the early ’80s, and I’ve been there when it plummeted back to earth in disgrace not so long ago. Yet, like Phoenix, you’ve risen from the ashes of public humiliation and defeat and have once again shown us all the truest meaning of dusting yourself off, holding your head high, and marching back into the fray. You have been, and will continue to be, an inspiration.
But Martha, we need to talk about that thing last night, you know, your new show. Girlfriend, if you wanted to, really wanted to, you could hang Trump up by his balls. But instead, you tried walking in his shoes. Martha, you ain’t no Trump and you ain’t no wannabe — you’re Martha, for God’s sake, and you should have acted like it. Where was the bitch who ran over little turkey chicks in her driveway because they were simply too much to handle with all the other domestic-diva-derry-do? Where was the Martha who rolled her husband because he wouldn’t bend over and take You up the ass?
May I be frank, M.? You dismissed your first butt-kissing apprentice last night because he failed to connect to his audience, your potential customer. But don’t you see, sweetheart — and I mean this in the best possible way — you, my Queenie, failed to connect with me, with us, your viewers. In other words, Martha, your show was not a good thing.
Martha, it hurts me more to have to say this than it does for you to have to hear it, but damage control is now the order of the day. You’ve got to stop that train wreck of a show and get it back on the rails — and fast. Yes, there are those of us who are with you through thick and thin, and we aren’t going anywhere no matter how ugly it gets. But the harsh reality is that (ugly truth ahead) not everyone worships you. And it is that segment of your viewing audience that you must, in your own words, connect with. If you don’t, well, I’m afraid you will be asked to leave.
Please take this advice and admonishment in the spirit with which it is offered. I love you, Martha. But I cannot sit idle and watch you crash and burn a second time. This cannot happen. Get your wannabes out of the boardroom and into the kitchen. Get them out of suits and into aprons. Throw away from their briefcases and stick a glue gun in their hands. Only then will we see what they’re really made of. Martha, do it for them. Do it for us.
Yours Very Cordially,
Visit me on Bite The Pariah.