Dear Heather,

I hear that you recently filed for divorce from your husband, “rocker” Richie Sambora. Like the rest of the world, I was in shock at this news, as I was satisfied that you had found your marital happiness with a man who was stuck in the “Slippery When Wet” era, and you could forever live out Dynasty role-playing games in the bedroom. Yet when I found out that Richie described his role in sex as “point and shoot,” I can certainly see why you’d leave his sorry ass behind.

By everyday woman standards, you’re still a hot babe. Perhaps best in soft light, but still looking damn good. I hope to be three-fourths as hot whenever I reach your “advanced” age of 44 years. My point is, after a socially respectable cooling-off period, you will have more suitors than the collective members of The Bangles, circa 1986. As such, some guidance from an impartial source is in order.

Now that I have your attention, there will be no more of this sort of thing:

Tommy Lee: Surely you remember what a dick he was during your seven years of marriage. Never mind that had the nerve to repeatedly cheat on you and then go on to marry that silicone blowup doll otherwise known as Pamela Sue Anderson. Even if he really was a nice guy – hahahahhahahaaaaaa – marrying one’s ex-husband went out of vogue with Elizabeth Taylor’s celebrity inauguration of the practice.

Charlie Sheen: Another huge no-no, and one who will no doubt call to console you and want to combine his misery with your company, since Denise Richards recently filed for divorce. I suppose Denise grew weary of travelling to the health clinic for repeated tests to rid herself of the taint of his strings of prostitutes.

Any man who jilts a Bond Girl is completely worthless, and I don’t think you need to be reminded that he pretty much singlehandedly kept Heidi Fleiss in business with his lust for strippers and prOnstars. An inveterate poonhound, that guy.

Geraldo Rivera: This seems obvious to outsiders, but at your vulnerable stage, I’ll risk the ridiculous on this one. After all, he is awfully convincing when his eyes fill with tears and his voice flutters with sorrow as he makes on-air pleas to demonstrate extremely inhumane conditions.

Can’t you just hear it, Heather? Free your boobs from that bra, Heather. Stop forcing them to stay in such horrible conditions. Noooo!

Don’t feed his smarmy ego and find yourself underneath his sweaty, grunting body as he preens into the bedside mirror, “Do I look realistic, darling?”

The Younger Man: After hearing from the above womanizers, you may think it wouldn’t be so bad to find yourself a pet, since Demi Moore isn’t doing so poorly with the Ashdog species. While I agree this is a better option than being dicked over by yet another rock star, don’t you want a man who is truly your equal? Someone who is slightly younger, perhaps thirty-sevenish, respects his mother, and is of of Irish descent? If this man was also an established actor who manages to avoid the trappings of Hollywood, that would only strenghten his potential.

I know of just a man – a native Texan, with ruggedly handsome looks, who is also a huge football fan and People Magazine’s 2005 Sexiest Man Alive. Heather, I urge you to pick up the phone and call Mister Matthew McConaughney:

Go for it, dahling. Kick that silly Penelope Cruz outta his life – we cannot understand a damn word she’s saying anyway.

Signed,

Agent Bedhead