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February 28, 2006

Fugly of the Month

People. I thought we had an AGREEMENT. I thought we were going to pretend that Jessica Simpson DIDN'T EXIST.  I feel like we TALKED about this, and I CRIED, and you all AGREED that she was OVER and I wasn't going to have to LOOK AT THIS ANYMORE:

OH MY GOD STOP TAKING PICTURES OF HER! Please, for the love of GOD STOP IT. I do not want to look at her big fake huge fake stupid fake lips -- which look ABSURD in this photo, which was taken SEVERAL FEET AWAY, can you IMAGINE what they look like if you were trying to KISS HER?  -- and her stupid 2001-era newsboy cap and her dumb 2002-era Uggs and her lazy, albeit timeless sweatpants. That whole outfit is, head-to-toe, a trip through Clothing Fad Memory Line of the last five minutes of all of our lifes. And, girl, while I get that you just want to run to the market to pick up a 40, how hard is it to throw on a pair of jeans? For real. THE REST OF US HUMANS MANAGE TO DO IT. WHY DO YOU THINK YOU'RE NOBoy u3 HB609ut noegn;Gn;lg;NGng;'Heoi9yo4hyunyne;w25i8585kskjwrttjjwjwflkg3w59i85qwqa..f74

[Editor's note:  We apologize for the above. Jessica will be back posting regularly when she recovers from what the doctors are calling "a mild case of rage-induced psychosis." They seem to think that as soon as she stops clawing at her face in anger and smashing her skull against her keyboard, she will be able to type again. They would like us to warn you all, however, that this kind of Ragaholism is highly contagious, and that if you have any of the following symptoms, you should put down your US Weekly and consult a physician immediately:  bursting into hives and/or tears at the sight of Joe Simpson, Dina Lohan or Kathy Hilton;  uncontrollable shaking when Jessica Simpson's "Pizza Bites" commercial comes on the television; gutteral, primal screaming when faced with yet another article about that random girl Nick Lachey may or may not be sleeping with; gutteral, primal screaming when no one listens to your theory that Nick Lachey is probably sleeping with Matt Leinart; and/or falling into a comatose state when you realize that you recognize Jessica Simpson's fucking hairdresser and, what's worse, also know -- off the top of your head -- his full name.]

Posted by Jessica at 08:40 AM in Ashlee & Jessica Simpson | Permalink

 

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