Posts Tagged ‘justin beiber’


Monday, August 18th, 2014

Dear Russell Brand,

I know.  You think I am dead.  There was a big controversy about my “alleged” anti-Semitism a few years ago but, when I died earlier last year, the media, kind of sort of “forgot” how, for decades, I kind of sort of forgot I was actually Lebanese and hid that fact by selecting the very American and vanilla surname, “Thomas,” which I concealed for the more than the six decades I worked as a reporter covering the White House.  I chose “Thomas” because another very famous Lebanese person also chose the surname, (Danny Thomas)


and I figured why not ride his coat-tails?  No one seemed upset by Danny Thomas.  Oh darn – that’s right – he started St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, was a very funny comedian and a kind, charitable man.  That’s probably why.  Not fair!  Also not fair that, just because I yelled, “Let the Jews go back to Germany,” the Hearst Corporation forced me to resign.  Why is it that bad things happen to good people like me?

But enough about me – I’m dead.  What’s that?  Applause from Tel Aviv?  It’s hard to hear under all this dirt.  When I was alive, I was the woman who sat in the first row at White House press conferences because I’m petite.  Okay 0– the size of a Gummy Bear.

In fact, the press corps voted me “In Case of Re-Make-of-Wizard-of-Oz-Most-Likely-to-Be-Cast-as-Entire-Lollipop-Guild,” the reporter from NPR called me “Dweeble” and one of the Fox News cameramen said I resembled the innermost of those Russian-dolls-within-a-doll-within-doll – you get the picture.  People can be so cruel.  Even dead people like me.  Rusell, you look like the love child of a filthy, matted-hair, anorexic evil pirate who mated with Tiny Tim.


But, I digress…

I’m writing to applaud you for your recent call to BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction)  Israel.   I always thought it stood for “Burn, Dissect and Sautee.”  But I guess the “moderates” like you are taken more seriously.  I know there are more celebrities out there who feel just like us, like that mensch, Mel Gibson. But most of them keep quiet.  I did hear that Selena Gomez is on board with us, but she’s just a former Disney starlet who’s dated Justin Beiber, so she doesn’t really count.  Speaking of Justin Beiber, I heard that after he toured the house in Amsterdam where Anne Frank and her family supposedly hid during that supposed Holocaust that we both know never happened, he wrote in the guestbook, “Anne Frank would have been a Belieber.”  That gives us both some indication that, if Selena Gomez had half a brain, she’d  still be missing the other half, so being on our side isn’t exactly a plus for you and me.


And then there’s that freakish, hideous Roger Waters of that band Pink Floyd, whose brain was probably host to more drugs than the Merck Pharmaceutical Company.

He’s one of us.   Though I cannot say with certainty that he dabbled in psychadelic drugs in the sixties and seventies, he seems to suffer from severe delusions.  Though he continues to stress that he is not “anti-Jewish,”  he claims that he is “not anti-Semitic and has also said, “or pro-Nazi.” “The Star of David represents Israel and its policies and is legitimately subject to any and all forms of non violent protest.” But, you and I know he wasn’t referring to Israel or the Jews.  We know there were no Nazis and no Holocaust, which is why, for the life of me, I don’t understand why those Jews don’t just move back to Germany, which they should never have left in the first place, right, Russell?

And yet, Mr. Brand,  unfunny comedian, hack writer, skinnier-than-a-pipe-cleaner, wonky wanker that you are, I’m not too confident that, now that I’m as dead as the Dead Sea, you’re quite the one to take my place as “Jew Hater Extraordinaire.”  As I lie here, literally, I think about how you managed to forever destroy everyone’s memory of the 1981 film “Arthur,” because now when we hear that title, instead of thinking of the late and brilliant Dudley Moore, we think of you and, truth be told you did to that script what the Allies did to Dresden during World War II.  Those poor alleged Nazis – all they were trying to do was cleanse the world of Jews.  I guess no good deed goes unpunished…


It is also rumored that you dabbled in drugs to the degree that Picasso dabbled in oil paints, and this does worry me.  But then there are things you’ve done that are quite encouraging.  For example, the fact that you came to work dressed as Osama bin Laden the day after September 11, 2001, gives me hope.

And mentioning clothing designer Hugo Boss, responsible for all of those lovely Nazi uniforms, including those adorable Hitler Youth boys, during a magazine awards show last year – priceless, just priceless!   Kudos on your divorce from that Katy Perry girl – clearly she was not your soul mate.  There are so many other fish in the sea.  I believe Yassar Arafat’s widow is still single and looking and that Hanan Ashrawi could always be looking for something on the side – who knows?


But do you think you can a responsible anti-Zionist, ( secret code for “anti-Semite” we must use because otherwise even the Upper West Side liberal Jews get insulted and stop funding our causes), when you continue to smoke weed and shoot smack into those skinny little veins of yours?  I saw that portrait of you where you try to look like Che Guevera.

You must have been higher than a cable TV satellite to do that.   You, as leader of your desired revolution will be sitting on a chair, trying to stay upright as your head nods up and down and you’re conscious only long enough to hunt for a Cadbury chocolate bar.  One journalist actually called you “one who’s more idiot than savant,”  which brings to mind just one question: “Who are you going to lead, Russell Brand — The Betty Ford Clinic?”

Perhaps one has to be hideous-looking to be an anti-Semite.  Or perhaps most anti-Semites are physically unattractive.  It’s a kosher chicken-and-egg conundrum. But I think of you, me, Stephen Hawking, John Galliano, Coco Channel, (good dresser but a skinny meis kite and actual Nazi), Truman Capote, Pat Buchanan, Louis Farrakant, George Bernard Shaw, Henry Ford, John Stewart, one of those fabulous self-loathing Jews, who, like me, is the size of those Fisher-Price Little People.

I’ve also heard from sources I will protect, (because I can’t talk because I’m dead), that that silly ISIS group in Iraq is giving Christians the option of converting to Islam or moving or dying.  Three options.  That’s more than the Chinese restaurants when they offer “one from Column A, one from Column B.”  But once they off all of the annoying Jews, they’ll be coming for you and all of the other non-Muslims in the world.

I’m dead so I’m not so worried.  But you better start thinking now about how to blame the Jewish people for that.  I know they’re to blame for the sinking of the Titanic, the Bubonic Plague, Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy, (as in “Sandra” as in “Jewish”), Mount St. Helen, aspertame, chafed thighs and the possible marital troubles of Beyonce and J.Z.

So, Russell, please – keep up the good work, stay off the smack if you can and, in case you’re wondering, like most living people whether there’s a heaven or you just lie in a box until the maggots eat you when you die, I can’t really answer that.  The only thing I know for sure is that it’s hot as hell down here.



Helen (I lied about my last name and nationality for 60+ years) Thomas






Tuesday, December 31st, 2013







 If you think and therefore you are, why is there no evidence of this in your tweets?

Does the word “hashtag” make you feel cool?  “In”?  “With it”?  Did you know the symbol “#” means “number,” not “hashtag”?  If someone started calling “&” (ampersand) “fingerling potato,” would you follow suit?  Why don’t we just re-name all symbols and then really go to hell with ourselves and give all words and symbols different meanings from what they have now?  That would really fool the Germans.  Let’s have  a really secret language.  And then you couldn’t talk to anyone because no one would understand you.  And that  would make you cooler than Bob Dylan and Patti Smith and Johnny Cash and T Bone Burnett, who you’ll be quoting right after you see the new Coen Brothers film. And then you could tweet about that and people will understand those tweets about as much as they do your current tweets. Hashtag.


 Your “Woke up this morning and really craved bacon,” tweet, is yet another reason the only “friends” you have are on Facebook.




You have stooped so low in your conquest of information on Justin Beiber, Taylor Swift and Joe Jonas that even the lobsters and mussels must look down to see you.




If you identify yourself as a literary agent and then are smarmy enough to say, “no submissions through Twitter,” then why the fuck do you identify what you do?  So that crackheads feel bad?  So that your middle school English class can say, “Of course – she was the only one who understood ‘Silas Marner?” 

Or the poor English teacher who’s been trying to get his novel published since 1986 and had the nerve to give you an A- one semester, now feels bad?  Believe me – he remembers prime numbers more than he remembers you.  Why not identify yourself as “millner”? or “cotswain” or a “pickler.”  Or how about what you really are – “ an arrogant a-hole.”






Why do you think it’s any less horrid to tweet that you “love YA fantasy books, hot cocoa, micro-brewed beer and kettle corn, cat curled at my feet,” than to tweet, “smelled my belly lint, chews tin foil, stalks tow-headed children, snorts paprika, eats uncooked chicken fat”?




 I only care about the weather if I live in your city or plan to travel there.  So for the tweeter who consistently tweets, “Another beautiful day in Okinawa…”  Really?   Why?  Is it up for hosting the Olympic Summer Games 2020?  Do I need the coordinates to make me feel bad about Pearl Harbor?  “It’s hailing here in Okinawa,” would be interesting once in a while.  Or, “Tasmanian Devil Loose in Okinawa.”  Or “Wow – they sure sell a lot of 100% coral calcium here in Okinawa.”




If you don’t lack the skill to tweet something even minimally amusing, (and you don’t), then why are you re-tweeting someone else’s words?  It’s like having your mom do your term papers for you.  You remember that.




We can see who you follow on your Twitter account. People followed Jesus, people followed Buddha, people followed the Beatles.  You are following Bettheny Frankel and we know it and when we run into you we feel all skeevey and embarrassed and, at the same time, we are laughing at you.  Not with you.  At you.  Now go have a Skinny Girl Margharita.




8)   We both know that 9/10ths of the people who “follow” you on Twitter are those you followed first and they just returned the favor.  They couldn’t pick you out of a police line-up.  Nor would they want to.




9)  I am, however, impressed that you have 140 characters’ worth of something to say.  Note that I did not say 140 characters’ worth of intelligent or witty or awe-inspiring to say.  And sometimes, nothing is better than something.






 Now you’re tweeting and using photographs.  That’s like going on the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disneyland and singing along.  Out loud.




When did you become so interesting?  If you do a mental check through the decades of your life, you’ll come up with the same answer I’ve done it for you –  never.  You weren’t fun in middle school.  In camp, you were the one whose sheets we’d short and candy we’d steal.  In college, we’d tell you we were studying at the library when in fact we were going to a kegger and didn’t want you to bring the room down.  You’ve spent most of your life nodding, saying, “Uh-huh,” and “good idea.”  Now you think you’re Oscar Wilde.  No, no  -you’re the one who inspired Oscar Wilde to say,   “either you or that wallpaper will have to go.  And it’s not the wallpaper.”





Stop your goddamned hipster tweeting about trending foods because you are the reason the trend ends.  Wonder what happened to artesenal cheese, kale chips, salty caramel, tapas?  Check your fridge. Wine-pairing makes bedazzling sound like fun.


Your cat.  Stop.  If  your cat could talk, he would say, “stop tweeting about me or I’ll sue you for all the cat cookies and rainbow trout in the world.”  “Prudence at my feet, mulled cider and a Madelaine in my hand, 

(wow- not only are we not impressed that you read Proust, knowing what this cookie is is not proof-positive anyway),  down-alternative comforter swaths my body.  Nothing better.” Yes there is.  Syrup of Ipacac.  Bad Chinese food on a 102-degree day immediately followed by a nasty roller coaster ride.