I wish that I could figure out, either with the advanced powers of modern medicine or a $410 invoice from the psychic friends, the exact location within my cerebral cortex all the image, sound, and memory data of Andie MacDowell were stored. You see, that way it would not be too far out of the realm of possibility for me to take a bent-open paperclip, a dentist’s mirror, the soundtrack to The Music Man, and an open fire; using them as cruel tools of self surgery to scratch out those places and forever rid myself of the pain I feel whenever I think about her. She is useless. If she were a radio, she would have no knobs. If she were a car she would be ’85 Aerostar van up on blocks outside a brothel in the seedy strip club part of town with the words “Punta Negra Riot” spray-painted on the hood. If she were my floatation device in case of a water landing I would drown. If she were the genetic composition of a human organism she would be an extra chromosome. If she was a sitcom she would be most like the tacked-on gay character that tries to make America think Big Network TV is sympathetic to gay rights. If she were a restaurant she would be shut down by the Board of Heath Services for contamination and emitting strange smells. If she were an action figure kids would begin to read books and develop ideas consistent with minds capable of running the world’s most powerful nation. If she were Ground Hog Day Punxsutawney Phil would blow up! If she were a virus we would the healthiest place on earth. If she were a song she would be sung by the Back Street Boys or their closest Boy Band Equivalent. She is a spare tire for an ocean liner. She is a ice sculpture in Death Valley on July 12th. She is last minute field goal with 37 seconds on the clock when you are behind by 268 points! To a salmon she represents downstream. She is a box of condoms at a Girl-Girl motorcycle club on the out-skirts of Las Vegas. If she were the sun vampires would feed on your children. If she were an ice cream flavor she would be called “Pralienes with NO Talent”. If she were a joke she would be about the rape of infants or about cancer of the liver.

And If she were an actress she would help expand the minds of audiences worldwide by bringing forth realistic portrayals of interesting characters that grow emotionally and spiritually over the course of a role.

People wonder why I have Andie-Angst. I suppose it has to do with her being rewarded for level-best mediocrity. She and many like her represent how people who have so very little to contribute can clean up while mindful followers of righteous lives get the shaft. She must have pictures of Satan attending Easter Mass because SHE KEEPS GETTING WORK!!! I can’t figured it out but it drives me up two walls and out a second story window.

She is un bearable. I cannot look at her or any of her vapid, one dimensional roles without having the nauseous urge to throw up Spaghetti-Os I ate when I was 5. I fear having children because I have no idea what exposure to her lifeless brand of acting has done to my testicles other than make them crawl 4 ¾” into my abdomen. She cannot deliver a line, she has no timing for the moment, and, has never got in touch with any character mindset other than the shallow wishing-well, monotonous stock character she trots in front of the camera with every passing role. She substantiates the falsehood that all you need is a six-pack’s worth of brain cells and a sloping Romanesque nose, and you can go anywhere.

I hate the fact that she pays dividends to stupid humans.