Dear Jayma Mays,
I really don’t get it. Your name reminds me of that lady that’s famous for her pancake syrup. You kind of look like a Glo Worm. Or a fish. I can never tell if you’re 16 yrs old or like… 60 yrs old. Well?
And I’m sad to say that almost every movie or TV show you’ve been in is painful to sit through. I mean, Glee? Really? Do you really enjoy being on a show that takes already-cheesy songs for white people, and turns them into even cheesier songs for even whiter people? And Paul Blart: Mall Cop? For fuck’s sake, woman, you gotta pick your roles as if you’d like to still have a career in ten years! I’ll admit, I liked you as Charlie on that NBC show, Heroes, but you were in what… ten episodes over the course of three seasons? Lord knows that show is a guilty pleasure anyway. And now you’re working on a CGI/Live Action film version of The Smurfs (to be directed by the genius that brought us Home Alone 3 and Beverly Hills Chihuaha)?? What’s even worse is that you were only able to get a bit part in that one! The only truly good project you’ve been a part of is that one episode of Drunk History where you play Ben Franklin’s would-be lady-friend… and that was maybe 30 seconds of screen-time.
My point is this. Your acting sucks. You look weird. Your name is weird. You did that silly cliche thing where you fall in love with and marry a costar… except this costar was found on the set of, wait for it… Epic Movie. Yep, he’s really “going places” too… So yes. In reality, I would probably make fun of you until you killed yourself. But for some unknown reason… I love you, Jayma Mays, you absurdly talentless hack. I want to lay in bed with you; drinking wine, having mouth sex, and working on high-school-level math problems together.