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May 16, 2005

Fugly: Fully Loaded

Oh my God, Lindsay. Pull it together.

I am about to sound like your mother -- or, rather, what your mother should sound like were she not too busy dealing with your deadbeat father to notice how strange you look -- so get ready. And stand up straight.

Young lady, do you know who you look like with your hair like that? Are you ready for this? Hilary Duff.  Yes, I know you're thinner than she is, and that's an entirely different discussion, although I suppose this all does prove once and for all that your boobies are real. Yes, I said "boobies." Don't "Mooom" me! As I was saying: do you really want to be running around town looking like a girl who was in a silly TV show and then made a couple of movies with boys on the WB? Do you? I didn't think so. And I know the hair is allegedly for a role, but I really hope you're not thinking about keeping it that way, because blondes have more fun or some cockamamie reason, because, missy, let me tell you a thing or two: you look like every skinny blonde starlet in town like this, thing one, and thing two? Thing two is that, for your information, redheads are all over the runways this season, so your real hair color -- in addition to looking so pretty on you, sweetie -- is really very chic. Yes, it is. Yes, it is. Blondes are a dime -- don't you dare walk out on me when I am talking to you!

I haven't even started on your outfit. What are those SHORTS? Why don't you just cuff them and we can start calling you "Baby" and making jokes about putting you in the corner.   You just look so messy, sweetie. And you're such a pretty girl, why is everything so baggy and ill-fitting and layered and wrongly proportioned?

You used to be so adorable! Come here, and look at these pictures with me. Look at you here!

What happened? Is it because you're hanging around with those girls? I told you I don't like you spending so much time with that Nicole Richie. I used to think she was all right, but she spends so much time in the bathroom. No! No -- don't you dare try and tell me she has irritable bowels, Lindsay. I will give YOU an irritable bowel if you interupt me one more time, so help me God. I have SEEN that girl and if her bowels are irritated, it's because there's nothing moving through them.

No, it's not "ew," it's sad, and I don't want you hanging out with her anymore. Honey, seriously. I just want to help. I want to help, and for you to wear either shorts, or pants, but not these Federline-inspired shortpris. Okay?  Now, I know you've had a hard time since you and WhatsHisName, Wilber, broke up -- sorry, WilMER, WilMER, although I don't know what kind of name WILMER is -- sorry, sweetie, I know. It smarts. It still smarts. Come here and let me hug you.

There, there. Now, let's go to Barney's and get you some real pants. We can TP Wilmer's place on the way home. Go get your shoes.

Posted by Jessica at 08:08 AM in Lindsay Lohan | Permalink

 

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