Dear Suri Cruise,
How's it flying, homeslice? It's me, your ultimate frenemy, Shiloh Jolie-Pitt!
Well, it's been a while since I've reached out to you, Suri Cruise. We're from two different worlds, you and me. You, with your e-meters, maniacally grinning midget sirer, and embarrassingly excessive designer wardrobe, and me with my saintly forebears, world travels, and infant philanthropy. But today I was perusing Life & Style and I damn near choked on my organic, locally-grown strained vegetables when I read that you, Suri NoMiddleName Cruise, were offered a "lucrative" modeling contract for Baby Gap. Oh, Suri. Poor, misguided, sad little Suri. For someone a full one month and eight days older than me, you're so unwise. Modeling is work for the untalented, the masses, the sad little tiny people hoping and praying that one day, a lesser Weinstein will see their face in a Kraft ad and catapult them into the Hollywood fast track via some sweet extra work. Me, I bypassed all that bullshit and went straight to the big fuckin' time–I've already had my first role in an F. Scott Fitzgerald adaptation and I have my own profile at IMDb. I should have my SAG card before I see my second birthday and I'll be working with Lars Von Trier before my third. Hopefully by then you'll have hit the big time and be donning Toughskins for the Sears insert in the Sunday paper. Boo-yah, bitch.
See you in hell,
Shiloh Jolie-Pitt
