Dear Jessica Rowe,
Oh, you inane, bony little pixie.
I can't listen to your forced vacuous giggle any more, or tolerate your cheesy fairy-tale grin, without wanting to take to my television with a hacksaw.
I know by rights I should also send an email to Karl Stefanovic, your meatheaded boof of an offsider, but I suspect that he can't actually read big words. Like 'Stefanovic'.
Even Sharyn Ghidella looks at you like she wants to snap you like a brittle, elfin twig.
Please take your alarming jutting collarbones and your pointy, pointy, face elsewhere, quick-sticks. Don't make me get the hose.
Yours with a comparatively well-concealed skeleton,