Dear Ashley Alexandra Dupré,
Remember back when you were still a mysterious high-class escort, captured for posterity on what looked to be a pretty swanky yacht? You’d just been revealed by the press as the lady behind the downfall of the state’s highest executive and we were enthralled. Who were you? From where did you hail? What were your hopes and dreams? The exact size of your breasts? Was your hooker heart at all gold in color? We wanted to know everything. And now? Now we’re sort of over you. Maybe it was the growing avalanche of low-rent nudie pics of you available everywhere that tainted you for us, or perhaps it was your slurry-looking underaged appearance in that Girls Gone Wild video. Possibly it was just the trucker hat you were wearing in it. But we can’t seem to muster up any interest in whether producer Joe Francis will release it or bow to pressure from your lawyers to shelve it. Trucker hats! Joe Francis! Oh dear … so much for the ritzy hooker motif. What’s the most important thing to remember during your fifteen minutes of fame? Overexposure can happen in under ten. Thanks for the memories though!