May 18, 2006
It's well-documented by now what Brandon Davis was filmed saying about Lindsay Lohan -- lengthy and numerous rants disparaging her private parts and their cleanliness, announcing that he is disgusted with how poor she is because she is only worth $7 million, and spitting that he would never, ever sleep with her, before asking the videographer, "Would YOU [sleep with] her?" All the while Paris Hilton is choking on her own laughter, because there's nothing at all trashy about her.
Even though we are upset with Lindsay over her recent fashion choices and painful adherence to The Evil Legging, we can't condone his particular breed of vileness. So in the spirit of turnabout being fair play: I wouldn't sleep with this man. Would you sleep with this man?
Imagine it: Just you and Tubby, rolling around in the massive oil slick generated by his pores. And the most glorious part is, you could go at it all day and all night, because unlike Lindsay -- who is destitute with that $7 mil she has earned -- Brandon doesn't actually work for a living or contribute to society in any way at all beyond spurring an increase in Lysol sales. Doesn't a fling with him just sound like squalid heaven? Right!
I find it divine that he's insisting certain foul things about La Lohan's private parts when his are almost certainly so greasy that if you wrung them out, you could deep-fry a turkey. Mischa Barton, once pitiable for allowing him to touch her in intimate ways, must now be considered something of an American hero for turfing his putrescent ass (even if she did take up with someone else who is questionable in similar ways).
In fact, if you are a woman who has not given in to Brandon's condescending grease-pig charms, stand up and pat yourself on the back and then go buy yourself something pretty, because you are sane, rational, and smart. And Lindsay, if his spewed bile about your temporary interest in his bloated genitals is true, then consider this a wake-up call (just your luck, indeed) and file an immediate insanity plea with yourself. He is that damaging high-school jerk who lacks any redeeming qualities, any humanity, and any deodorant, yet still somehow has this insane power to make people hate themselves with just one sentence. Distance yourself from the dead-eyed vacancy of a trust-fund zombie cloaked in the grime of his own sedentary, fruitless existence, and for the love of God, take a break from the party circuit and the fetid, juvenile, detention-hall hell it's become.
Also, I am sure that I hate what Brandon is wearing - it's guilty by association.
Posted by Heather at 12:13 PM | Permalink