An Open Letter to Sam Frost (From Blake’s Granny)

6 Oct


Oh, lovers, it’s thrilling sometimes what we get our paws on and look what landed in our inbox on the very day jilted Sam and her Alpha Douche ex-fiancee are set to reveal all!

(Note:  all suggestions this was written by the Dog are erroneous and deeply hurtful – The Dog.)


Dear Samantha

Do you mind if I call you ‘Samantha?’.  I ask because whenever I say ‘Sam Frost’ I think of ‘Sam Fox’ and I just hate her because I can’t tell you the number of times I caught my dear departed husband fumbling through Playboy to get his mits on her boobs.

Anyway, Samantha, the reason I’m writing to you is because I have heard you’re going to be on that godawful show, The Project, tonight and I’m hoping I can convince you to say some nice things about my grandson, rather than the foul language I suspect your slutty tongue is more than capable of.

Speaking of slutty tongues, I have to confess that I wasn’t the proudest grandmother in the world when Blake’s climbed into another girl’s mouth on his first date.  I remember when Blake was just a little tacker and had a big picture of Melissa George on his wall and he always used to say he admired her for the way she let her mascara run on TV when Shane died and that all the scrunched up tissues were because he was an empathetic person who couldn’t help crying along with her.

What I’m saying is that I knew then that my grandson couldn’t keep his filthy little Johnson out of his fist, and that if he’d lie to his own grandmother, well, he’d probably end up in politics.

Look, just for the record I want you to know that I never believed you were a poon salesgirl, and even if you were one I would have welcomed you into our family because Andrea lost the taste for whoring when she got pregnant with Blakey down at the docks and imagine the fun we could have had trying on your thigh-highs and pretending the bedpost was a 9ft American Sailor called Marlon.

I also want you to know that I adored the way you trashed out that tupperware-faced Lorena at the Cocktail Party because if there was any girl who deserved a little chutney on her couture it was her.  But I did dislike how it seemed to put you on the same side as that Amber because – Mary mother and Joseph! – whichever god designed that face certainly can’t have been a fan of flushing the toilet!

And you know, the rumors that my little Blakey has taken up with one those other ones scares me because even though I could absolutely accept a prostitute into my home, a Canadian is another story entirely.

To be honest, if I’d had my pick of you girls – and, no, I really didn’t, because even though Blakey made it look like he loves to sit down and listen to our opinions, the reality is that when he announced he was opening up his own Skin Club and I told him that made him a giant pimp and he should go on out and buy himself a floor-length purple leather jacket, he told me to fuck off and die. 

Anyway, if I HAD had my pick I would have gone with Katrina because remember when she drew that picture of Blake and made him look like the exhumed corpse of Geoffrey Eddleston?  Well, not to give away all my plans, but let’s just say Blakey would have come back from one of his ten-day benders for Schoolies Week and found a whole new set of posters on his wall.

Anyway, he picked you and then he UNpicked you and, well, let me just get down to business.  I know that when that nasty little orange tramp Carrie Bickmore asks, you’re going to want to say that you hope Blakey dies with an Ebola dick down his throat and that you’d love to be able to hop back in time and change your answer from ‘100%’ to ‘I’d rather eat SHIT’.  And you know, I bet that’s exactly how Nicole Kidman felt after Tom Cruise launched that surprise divorce and tried to pretend they’d only been married for 9.99999 years instead of 10. But my point is that she DIDN’T and now she’s married to that nice hairdresser and has made two new children so she doesn’t have to dirty her hands on those nasty Scientology ones.

I guess what I’m saying is that Karma doesn’t like a giant yappy mouth and so if you can just shut it about how Blake told you he’d wait for you outside the loos and then sent you drunk text 12 days later, I’ll bet you’ll end up marrying someone just as lovely!

Plus (and I only tell you this to make you feel better and I trust that you’ll keep it just between us ladies) Blakey was known as Bibi for the first 6 years of his life because, well, we know what the doctors said and all but what if they were all just drunk and it really WAS a clitoris?  Not that that would have mattered to the course of True Love, of course, and, anyway, I’ve heard all you girls are into putting things up your bottoms now so I suppose when you look at it that way a willy the size of a Libra Slim is probably highly sought-after.

You know what I think you should do?  Tell the world he’s just a sweet guy who got ‘caught up in the romance of the experience’ and that, at the end of the day you’ve got ‘no hard feelings’.  THEN you should stop hanging around with grotty little skanks like that Tully and go knock on the door of that nice young footballer who knocked up Megan Gale because, well, I don’t see a ring on HER finger and, frankly, I’ve always suspected she was just Blake in dress.


Granny Garvey


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