Fugly Dukes

Okay, first of all, I am so over Jessica Simpson. Has no one noticed that, over the course of the past two years, she has morphed into an actual WAX FIGURINE?

And now she seems to think she's, like, the waxen love child of Sienna Miller and the jockey manchild Tobey McGuire played in Seabisuit:

What? Unless Nick slept with some nanny-type Simpson employee [like, say, Ashlee, who, to me, sort of looks like the girl down the street who babysits your little sister and who you kind of like hanging out with although you can never ask her for fashion advice and you certainly can't borrow her clothes, but because she's sort of amusing and her life is always a total mess and makes you feel better about yourself because, although things might be bad, at least you aren't chasing Wilmer Valdermananananana all over town], Jessica really has no call to adopt this kind of Homeless-British-Wan and Terribly Cold-But-Can't-Bother-to-Find-a Coat-Hell-This-Blanket-Will-Do-Knicker-Sporting chic.

Can't she just go away for ten minutes? Just ten. Just give me a second to catch my breath.