Memo to Adam Lambert

You're not helping, shithead.



Look.At.Yourself.

 

Every mother's nightmare of what the horrible gays would be like if unloosed from their pen.  Thanks a lot, fucker.

You have a tremendous talent, and you're a fantastic showman.  And somewhere beneath the glitter and the mascara is a handsome man.  But all you can think to do is doll yourself up like a creep from a nighmare freak show, and be as gross as possible on nationwide television.

If you were doing a stage act in a gay nightclub, that might be different, though I wouldn't pay to watch you.  I prefer my porn straight out of the bottle and undiluted, thank you.

There's millions of people out there in big cities and small towns who also have talent but will never, ever get the breaks you've gotten.  And there's millions more people who would love to have a truly stellar example of gay talent to look up to and point to.  But little boy, you're just peeing on the carpet because you can.  I don't know who your daddy is, but he ought to set you down for a good talking - and a swift kick in the ass.

You would do well to man up and put that enormous talent to better use.  All you really need on stage is a white shirt, blue jeans, and microphone - and you could have the whole damn world at your feet every time you open your mouth and sing.  But you don't have the guts to do that.

Because the dirty little secret you think nobody knows is that you don't have enough confidence in your own talent - you think you have to use sex to sell yourself.  Buddy, you are so wrong, and I hope you find that out real quick.

Because if you want to end up as another hopelessly fucked-up, dead-early tragedy like others we could name - you're succeeding, big time.

Just an old country boy's thoughts - somebody who would like to admire you.  But doesn't.

Russ