Dearest Jessica: My Heart, It Bleeds for You

Jessica Simpson’s rumored new beau is none other than Smashing Pumpkins guru and powder-pale ego-bot Billy Corgan. If this is true, we at TBTS grimly recognize that there’s about to be a drastic upward spike in the number of overwrought missives from reclusive teenage boys to popular cheerleader girls. Billy’s dating coup will likely give false empowerment and hope to thousands of gawky, lovelorn male adolescents who stare longingly at a pretty classmate and dream of the moment when an idealized, wildly unrealistic version of their beloved finally cries, “I’ve had a crush on you for years too!”

Boys, this is for your own good: it ain’t gonna happen.

Think about it—when he was in high school in the 1980s, Billy Corgan probably wrote yearning love notes to at least one girl who looked a lot like Jessica Simpson. How do you think that turned out? Our hypothetical Billy, with the trench coat in summer, Sisters of Mercy notebook scrawls, and surprisingly vast knowledge of botany that began with a morbid fascination with carnivorous plants; our hypothetical Jessica, with the pineapple lip gloss, white Cabrio convertible, and quarterback boyfriend named Tony?

I’ll tell you how it turned out. Teenage Billy—before his fame, before his fortune, before his two good albums in the early 90s and 15 years of crap since then—never had a prayer. His attempt to woo Jessica probably went something like this:

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Dearest Jessica,

For my whole life, I have been like a flower that grows best with little light. Like dicentra spectabilis—the bleeding heart flower—I have found safety in the shadows. But lately, this bleeding heart has begun to tire of the dark and crave the light of the new morning sun. That feeling began when I first saw you, beautiful like the rose, the perfect flower that grows best in the light.

To me, even when you stand on the track behind the bench and cheer, “Go, Badgers, Go” every Friday night, you are radiant. I hate football, and I hate those assholes who call me “fag” and give me purple nurples every day in the locker room, but still I go to their weekly barbaric ritual. Not out of school spirit, but because you move my spirit. You pull me, the bleeding heart that has always sought the shade, toward your beauty. I go to the games to be near you, because I cannot bear the thought of having to wait until Monday morning homeroom to see you again.

Jessica, you are like the rose. My heart, it bleeds for you. Do you care for me, as I so deeply care for you? May we one day grow together in the light?

Waiting expectantly for your answer…and the warm light of your love…

Billy

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Billy,

Shut up, freak. You better leave me alone, or Tony’s gona kick you’re ass!!

Jessica

P.S. I would of said this to you’re face, but why would I embaras myself like that?

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I hate to say it, boys, but I think just about all of you are destined to be rejected in a similar, poorly written fashion. So save yourselves the shame—those girls don’t deserve you anyway. Unless you’re a totally clueless wank with no game whatsoever, you’ll do much better with the literary magazine set in college.

Hell, one or two of you might start alternative rock bands and end up like the real Billy Corgan, who, despite being a totally clueless wank, has finally wooed the cheerleader (she’s at least on the cheerleader Senior Tour) who used to date Tony the Quarterback.

So put down your quill pens and be patient.