Dear Kim Kardashian,

This is my first open letter I’ve done where my intent truly wasn’t to read my subject for blood and boots in front of God and everybody. I’m seriously writing this letter to warn you, as a Bey stan, that getting close to Beyonce ever again will be detrimental to your career and life. And here’s why.

I remember seeing a billboard of you on the Walt Whitman Bridge telling drivers that you’d be in Atlantic City during Memorial Day weekend. I immediately thought of Beyonce whom was having her Back To Business concert at Revel Resorts, but my mind never fully made the connection. Now that I sit back and write this letter, I realize that your plot began way earlier than we all thought. When Beyonce arrived at Atlantic City, all I could think of was how bitter I was that I was not going. But then you tweeted that you would be there, and that’s when the shit hit the fan.

You created such a disturbance on Twitter that caused the BeyHive to tweet in all caps and multiple exclamation points. No one wanted you to even be in the same city as Beyonce, let alone a picture. There were people who were trying to find Julius’ Twitter to tell him that on the first sight of you sashaying those “black girl already had them” hips down the hall in your Louboutins to charge like an angry bull, tackling you to the ground. But I’m sure that would’ve just reminded you of how Reggie Bush used to perform foreplay, and since Julius is black you may have done him right there, embarrassing yourself in front of your apparent idol, Beyonce.

I, on the other hand, was concerned for your safety. After hearing that news story of the man stabbing his friend because his friend didn’t know Jay-Z and Beyonce were married, I knew I joined an insane house of gays that gave truth to the saying, “reading for blood and boots.” Not a day in my life have I ever seen you with a security guard (aside from the one you tried sleeping with on your show), so I automatically knew it’d be easy for a stan to wrapped their hands around that neck and throw glitter in your eyes. Particularly since your Decepticon-like built sister, Khloe, wasn’t there to dislocate kneecaps with a swing of her penis. The torture they’d make you go through like washing your face with Irish Spring Soap and making you take pictures without makeup. Or pulling out your lashes individually, or smudging the globs of eyeliner you put on. The horror.

Thankfully, Beyonce saw all of our tweets that night and didn’t take any pictures with you for your benefit. But you tried like any hoe after a baller to chill with her friends just to get cool with Bey. Sorry Kim, but your life is not a Spice Girl’s song. The thirst and utter desperation in you taking pictures with Ashley and the rest I can’t name was just dreadful. I could smell your puss itching to get closer to Beyonce, because that’s what it does when it’s near talented black people. It sniffs them out like a hound dog similar to those in the hood used by cops to catch drug dealers. Yours has very similar talents for the obvious reasons being black penis and money. Then, it latches on to them like a venus fly trap with teeth, never to let go. But Bey was on to your game. But of course you’d try again, and that’s where this letter gets mean.

Not only are you dating Kanye West for the awesome, self-absorbed dick lashing, but you want to be closer to a whole new elite of black people. You’ve become so interesting that even Oprah interviewed you for her show. That pussy hustle you got is all because of your mother. I can’t hate, though. She made your entire family relevant enough to be on Oprah’s show… or was that Ray J’s dick? Dah well. But I digress. If that billboard didn’t tell me anything, it told me that you plan strategically months in advance. The whole (or partial) reason you’re with Kanye is to get closer to Beyonce. You want an A-list celebrity female friend because people like Ciara and La La are just losing in this game. No one is here for them. They don’t even have enough followers to be Twitter famous. But once again, I digress.

When I saw those pictures of you ambushing Beyonce with the rest of those white people in that crowd, I knew you were up to no good. That pussy sniffed her out then stampeded to her like Precious to the last piece of chicken in the Popeye’s frier. Beyonce looked so accosted. She had the expression of an 8-year-old child who was about to be hit in the face during a game of dodge ball. Beyonce tried her best to bob and weave that bloodhound pussy, but her scent of golden honeycomb, brown sugar, and unicorn blood was too potent. Damn. You fell into Beyonce alarming the crowd, who stood by snapping pictures to capture the miraculous moment. Beyonce ducked out of view, dodging flashes. But you grabbed onto her arm trying to make it known that you two were together. Beyonce held the expression of, “get this girl away from me,” but you just continued. Julius had to be getting his dick sucked, because that’s the only reasonable excuse for his absence. But, I appreciate Beyonce for being nice to someone who consistently dabbles in trashy antics every now and again. You should feel special and lucky, because it’ll never happen again. Beyonce couldn’t run away from you fast enough. Oh, and don’t think you’ll be getting to hold Blue Ivy any time soon.

I just need you to know that your desperate seek for elite relevance will not go unnoticed. You have now upset the BeyHive and they will be on your radar. I strongly suggest that you acquire a bodyguard as soon as possible for your safety. This isn’t a threat, but a warning about my BeyHive brothers and sisters. I’m telling you, they’re crazy! Your social security number may be erased soon, and that show and all them spin-offs may be canceled. Ryan Seacrest and Kris Jenner are going to be pissed. And you’ll be right in the unemployment line with Ciara, trying to get jobs with Keri Hilson as cart-wranglers for Walmart. And I will make sure to go to your store 10 minutes before close, and push 17 carts all the way to the end of the parking lot, and fuck up some shelves inside. Don’t make me not like you more than I already do.

If Beyonce didn’t have her guard down and wasn’t surrounded by craziness, I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened.

And I know Beyonce is black and all, but she doesn’t have a dick. So why are you on her like this?

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.