Dear Michael,

“Like This” didn’t bump anywhere but my car, not even my friend Barbara would request “Ghetto,” Ms. Kelly is collecting dust at Target, and I was looking forward to my tour, but it’s being cancelled because of low ticket sales. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear me perform “Stole” and watch me dance to Beyonce’s vocals during my Destiny’s Child medley?

Mathew seems too busy tending to my shero, Beyonce, and promoting Solange’s reject Kidz Bop album to give me the attention my ex-friend Brandy once told me I deserved.

I tried to call Beyonce for help, because you know she’s so great and pretty and talented and just…wonderful; but she’s super busy promoting ‘B’ phone, lining up producers for her next album, reading scripts, following Jay-Z around, and looking over sketches for the House of Dereon’s puppy line. She always says she’ll call me back, but she never seems to. That’s alright, though. I’m just lucky to have her real number.

Have you ordered the ‘B’ phone yet, Michael? You really should. It’s hella nice and it has her name on it. I like to look at her name before I go to sleep. Oh yeah, don’t forget that her tour DVD drops later this month. I’m in it, too, but whatever --- Beyonce is so great on stage. Like, she’s so great in person, but she’s even greater on stage. That girl is…whew, incredible.

Well back to me, I guess. Whenever I call Mathew, he usually screams “Who?!” about four times before he says, “Oh…you. How’d you get this number? That damn, Tina. Hmm yeah, don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say he doesn’t have my best interest at heart. I mean, even LeToya sold more records than me…and we kicked her out! That’s what she gets for asking stupid questions like, “Where’s my money?” and “How come Beyonce is driving a Benz when my Neon just got repossessed?”

I really want to be a star like Beyonce, who looks stunning in that new Emporio Armani commercial. I feel that it might be time for me to speak up. You know, possibly demand I receive more attention. Maybe. I don’t want to make anyone mad, especially Beyonce. Don’t you think Bee got robbed for Dreamgirls? I mean, what would I do without her? Fend for myself? Who wants to do that?

Help me (without making the Knowles' mad)!

Dear Kelly,

Why would Beyonce ever need a bra with you around?

Pick your head up and finish reading. I’m here to help.

I wouldn’t ask Brandy for driving tips, but she’s a good person to look to on how to succeed. You remember the 90s when she mattered. You’re already swagger jacking her sound; might as well heed her warnings.

I’m about to give you the same advice she gave you: Find a new manager and get off of Beyonce’s tit.

I know, I know. You think I’m crazy, right? How dare I say something so blasphemous? But Kelly, think about it. You spend most of your interviews talking about Beyonce. Does she spend all that time promoting your projects?

Ok, that’s one time, though. Now compare how many times you’ve promoted Beyonce versus Beyonce promoting you.

Now how you like them apples?

Get a new manager, Kelly. Mathew will always be your father…as soon as you get that DNA test.

After that, go listen to “Promise” and “Like This.” Then compare “Can’t Nobody” to “Crazy In Love.” Why are the same top producers giving Beyonce and Ciara the heat and you’re getting beats Olivia would turn down? Start speaking up or you’re going to end up on Dancing With The Stars five years too soon.

Kelly:People are laughing at you.

Or wondering, "Girrrrrrl, what is your problem?"

You even freak these two out.

Folks are screaming for you to wake up, Kelly.

Get it together.

I’ll holla,

Michael

Labels: help me