Dear Nene,

Now that Season Four of The Real Housewives of Atlanta is over, I feel that this open letter will serve its’ purpose of explaining all the reasons that I (among others) no longer like you.

During the first season (which looked as if it was filmed on an iPhone 3GS compared to later seasons), we were all introduced to Linnethia “Nene” Leakes of Athens, Georgia. You were large and in charge, and ready to argue anyone down, because you were always “right.” I enjoyed that Nene – your lackluster, Yaki weaves that slanted too far to the side, your Easy Pickins’ couture that slouched and had too much fabric that didn’t cover much, your breasts that never sat perky within a bra because you didn’t wear them, and those wayward, misguided teeth that had a lot of character, especially when you hollered, which was often.

What happened to her? That Nene turned into an even louder brute that strutted in her Louboutins flashing around teeth that a doctor coerced to kindly join together in unity. Your character on Glee is more liked than your “character” on RHOA, which is very sad since Glee is scripted and RHOA is mostly reality.

The first episode, where you claimed your wealth was the large mammoth that bulldozed through my life and knocked over and stomped on any likability you possessed. Now, granted, you were arguing with Sheree, and even homeless people have more money than her. And that shot of you flashing your new pearly whites was the best shade that Sheree could have ever eaten. But when did flaunting your wealth become the new black?

You sound very “new money” when you say things like that. Throwing around your wealth isn’t going to make all those white people you need to impress to continue your acting career like you any more. You’re just giving them a reason to say, “This is why we don’t let n*ggers be in shit.” Please stop.

The way you deal with others is very indicative of someone who’s been betrayed before. You’re always so defensive like the wild animal you are. Elephants half your size, don’t even worry about the predators on the Sahara as much as you worry about what’s being said behind your back. And that talking over people thing you do when you argue… THAT sh*t is the most annoying thing in the world. You are way too old to be trying to make sure no one can hear the TRUTH coming from the other person’s mouth.

Then, you met Marlo: she who is with sin and lives in a shattered house, but continues to cast stones, regardless. That match made in hell was the reason I couldn’t watch this season. Your union restricted the Lord from entering my home every Sunday night, and I need every blessing I can get. You tagged teamed individuals, and were able to do so because combined you’re the height of a hippo standing on its’ hind legs, weigh as much as an 18-wheeler, and have voices stronger than any fog horn that can be heard within a 50 mile radius. This was the added backbone you needed. You already didn’t have any friends, excluding Cynthia. But she was only your shadow: thin, behind you, fading into the background, and boring. You and Marlo were the worst at nagging and riling everyone up. You give women your height and width a bad name. You’re already big, no need to be aggressive. Try being a lady once in your life and maybe you’ll find you a nice white man that won’t creep you out.

Oh, and please stay away from Peter. It’s not fair how you let that man abuse Cynthia then sleep with him while she watches. I know she gets tired of hearing your foghorn noises cry out from her bedroom as she washes the dishwaters and does the laundry. You’d think as friend and woman that’s been through abuse, you’d be a haven for Cynthia and not the reason her life is so miserable. She always looks so tired like she just got off of work. I blame Peter and you for having her cook your dinners and making her stand and watch as you kiss in front of the candlelight. You and Marlo have her carry your luggage on her back and walk on her knees when you’re both the size of male oxen and can carry quadruple the amount she can. Terrible.

I say all this in hopes that you listen and retain. Now, since you’ve blocked me (which IS the job of a defensive tackle as @Alneezy reminded me) I would hope that my readers would be sure to tweet this to you. I hope your relationship with the Escort of The South Living in The Collapsed Glass Menagerie ends soon. People may start calling you lesbians, and you know you’re a gay man (with the hugest d*ck) at heart. I hope you top. And just be more lady-like. You’ll definitely get the respect you deserve without having to roar and stomp around like an angry bull. And leave Peter alone. Cynthia already has enough on her plate as she presses your garments for your events. She doesn’t need you f*cking her man…. or her every Saturday afternoon while Marlo sucks d*ck in the corner to pay her mortgage.

Good luck on Glee.

Fierce & Love,

Abe

Disclaimer: Open Letters contain actual names of celebrities but are used in a fictitious and parodic manner. Any description of the subject of an Open Letter are only the opinion of the writer and DO NOT hold any truth unless witnessed by the media and its’ audience.