An Open Letter to the Friends of Kris Humphries

Friends of Kris Humphries, you are some of the weakest friends in the world.

When your buddy announces he's going to drop a couple mill on a diamond ring for Kim Kardashian, a commercially-programmed she-bot celebrity who's been married, engaged, or in booterus knockus, with several other professional athletes before you, how do you not ID this moment for some kind of intervention?  Maybe you can't stop your goofy friend from following his heart, or, you know, his other heart, but maybe you could suggest a starter ring or something for the engagement?

Maybe you raise the point, 'Hey, Kris, um, have you noticed you have the same exact name as her mom!'

I get it. I get what Kim Kardashian is good at. I've not experienced it all that much per se, but I'm adult book learned. But really, Kris Humphries, is this like your very first girlfriend? You don't have to marry her. Do you realize how many girls want to sleep with NBA players? At least some of whom likely have never been peed on by Ray-J.

Somebody, seriously, friends of Kris Humphries, do something.