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December 15, 2006

The Good Fugherd

Why so haggard and miserable, Angie?

You spent the entire night glaring balefully at the camera. Did Brad forget to bathe? Was the entire press corps wearing "Team Aniston" tees? Did Jon Voight call and refer to his granddaughter as "my beautiful little Zinedine Zidane," dredging up barely dormant filial rage? Or were you up all night sharpening knives on your teeth just to try and remember the bad old good old days?

Regardless, if sleep isn't an option, then maybe next time consider some makeup that doesn't make you look consumptive. I always thought anything would look gorgeous on you, but it turns out that the clammy pallor of a chronic wasting disease is the exception to that rule. So, look, as creepy as it was to cart around your lover's bodily fluids around your neck, if it would bring that old flush of danger back to your cheeks if you siphoned off a bit of Brad Juice -- or for variety, had a tattoo inked with his blood or secreted a locket full of his skin flakes in your bra -- well, that might be okay. We won't tell.

Posted by Heather at 09:06 AM | Permalink

 

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