Lindsay Lohan

Dina Lohan, if you want to be the next Oprah or the next Ellen or the next Rosie, or whoever it is you said you wanted to be (I don't listen to you much), you've got to do one thing. Okay, two things. First: step in and fix your kid. If Lynn Spears could manage to band together with Kevin freaking Federline to get Britney into Promises, I feel like there's got to be some way you can prevent Lindsay from being photographed snorting blow. I mean, at the very LEAST convince her to do it in private. The girl is ruining her career AND her septum. The other thing you need to do is throw out your culottes:

I have a pair of those. They are SHAMEFULLY comfortable, but I would wear them in public only if my house burst into flames. I got them at Urban Outfitters three years ago. And I think it's safe to say that if college girls have stopped wearing something to 8am classes, you need to stop wearing that something on the red carpet.

Or people are going to look at you like this:

I seriously feel like my relationship with Lindsay Lohan is sort of like the blogger/actress equivalent of a Lifetime movie, wherein she keeps doing dumb shit (the flashing, the serial dating/stalking of inappropriate dudes, the claiming that she wants to play Princess Diana, the rumor that she's dating K. Fed), and I keep making excuses for her.  Lately, we've been at the point where I don't even make the excuses here anymore, because I know y'all will be like, "GIRL. You have GOT to MOVE ON. She is BAD NEWS. This is just going to HURT YOU." And I don't want to hear it, because I secretly STILL LOVE HER.  So I make the excuses in my head. "She's just dating K. Fed because she wants attention. It's a cry for help, really. No one understands her the way I do. Everyone else is so mean." I know: it's a sickness. Next thing you know, Lindsay will stab Tori Spelling with a vegetable peeler or release a new Blackberry missive titled, "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?" ("Danger" being Kevin Federline and "Mother," I assume, being self-explanatory) or start an affair with an underage student as a means to forcing him to murder someone and then I will really have some justifying to do. Until then, I think I can handle this one:

It's....really cold where she is. And that's why she's wearing an incredibly long sweatshirt UNDER her cropped leather jacket. You can't expect someone to choose form over function in the arctic conditions of a small boutique! God! No one understands her but me.

Originally, our little LiLo had planned to wear her Shakespearean get-up to the premiere of The Tudors, but realized that perhaps she was being a bit too literal.  So she went for a deconstructed homage to the chainmail of Henry VIII's knights instead:

This pit-chain also has the benefit of acting like a de facto leash, in case she runs into anyone at the party that she'd like to have lead her around by the boobs. You never know: those Hollywood parties get KEE-RAZY.

[Insert obligatory statement about how at least she's wearing cute shoes here.]

It's widely publicized that Todd Haynes is making a movie about Bob Dylan that features several celebrities playing the part of the gruff, grunty, nasal "Like A Rolling Stone" singer -- including the highly female actress Cate Blanchett.

We can only assume, then, that a jealous Lindsay Lohan is trying to bask in the glow of Blanchett's risky genius by garnering attention for a project she thinks will bring her similar acclaim.

[Source.]

It will be a biopic of Poison's Bret Michaels, starring none other than LiLo as the man who made 7th grade girls everywhere swoon over the romantic joys of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," because it was a slow song and sounded so full of worshipful yearning that none of us bothered to listen to the actual words.

Now, the brilliance of her plan is: If, in light of his upcoming reality show, Bret Michaels is deemed too much of a sellout to be immortalized in an edgy movie of his life, she can easily segue it into The Sebastian Bach Story: 18 And Gilmore Girls To Go. Or perhaps a little something about the Nelson twins -- after all, she's had experience playing dual roles in The Parent Trap. Just get Dennis Quaid on board as the stern but lovable manager who had their best interests at heart all along and was heartbroken when they cut off their hair, and you've got some serious marquee value.

Dear Angelina Jolie,

We here at GFY would like to congratulate you on all your humanitarian work. We are happy you've made philanthropy the new black; there are worse things to make trendy, that's for sure. Like, say, formal shorts. So well done for giving a nice chunk of your personal fortune to international causes, and for opening your heart and your home to children in need.

Indeed, Angelina, it's the latter quality that has prompted our letter. There is somebody in desperate need of a mother, a real one, and since you seem to care about your children very much, perhaps you can widen the sexy Jolie-Pitt familial embrace to include one more person in peril.

Warning: This photo isn't safe for work, or for Maddox. So send him out to play on his ATV with Brad before continuing.

Because she's cranky that the media will no longer kowtow to her demands that she be its darling, Lindsay Lohan has fired off another classic missive punched frantically into her BlackBerry.

Before we elect her the official ambassador of "how our society should be educated on," however, we thought we should put this budding young teacher to the test by taking a red pen to her screed**. And, sure, everyone makes mistakes now and then -- we certainly are not immune -- but we do feel that anyone calling us to educational arms (among other things) should be fairly well outfitted with weapons herself.

Click to see large, legible versions.

** It's worth noting that there are only so many battles one can fight, only so much ink in a pen, and only so much space on a page. Ergo, the scribbles in red should be considered reflective of a larger and more involved path Ms. Lohan should take, and not the fully exhaustive edit and grammatical bitch-slapping that is likely required. We would, however, like to suggest that Dina Lohan stop yapping about looking out for Lindsay and instead take action via some Learning Annex classes. We hear DeVry can also help.

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

You've had quite a year.  Star Magazine claims you OD'ed at the Chateau Marmont before Thanksgiving, and that the doctor who allegedly revived you allegedly found a ton of alleged drugs in your  alleged room. You're allegedly going to AA (considering that your rep has confirmed this, apparently the second A stands for "actors"), but that doesn't seem to be taking.  You're allegedly a cutter -- something I learned all about from such Lifetime movies as I Cut Myself So I Can Feel Again, Not Without My Exacto-Knife, and Ow! I Really Hate My Life.  People made fun of you when you wrote a heartfelt note about Robert Altman's death and misspelled "adequate." Come on -- that was kind of funny! You kicked off the current parade of Starlet VaJayJay that we're all suffering through. You broke up with like nine dudes. You called Paris Hilton a word we can't reprint here -- ON VIDEO! -- and then told us all that you don't know why everything thinks you dislike her. You got publicly reprimanded for tardiness and a poor work ethic by the people at Morgan Creek. You crashed your car at least once.  I'm sure other stuff happened that I don't currently recall. Basically,  you are a MESS.

And while I love the color you're wearing here, I'm pretty sure that wearing a  pillowcase is not going to make you feel much better about yourself. 

We miss the Mean Girls you.

Love,

Jessica

Lindsay, dude. We know.

[Photo by X17, used with permission]

No need for an arrow -- we've all seen the crotch shots already.

PS: Would it kill you to buy some undies?

Oh SWEET JESUS:

This is so, so questionable.  Lindsay, babe, we haven't talked about you much recently -- mostly because there are only so many ways you can say, "Honey, please stop partying so much.  We're worried that you're blowing all your talent on [REDACTED ON THE ADVICE OF OUR LAWYER], doing too much [REDACTED] and spending all your money on [REDACTED]. Also, put on some pants" -- but I must speak up now.  I've seen chicer, more flattering cotton sacks in the Bulk Grains aisle in Whole Foods. You look like a bag of flour. Why must you continue to lash out at me in this fashion? Why do you still want to hurt me? Can't you just let me live? Can't you just leave the house in something attractive once and a while? I know you're going through a break-up, but is that my fault? Please stop torturing me like this. Also, put on some pants.

We've been pretty patient with Lindsay Lohan lately. She's allegedly been trying to get it together, albeit with a few missteps and a crotch flash, and we were totally encouraged by the news that she was both dating an alleged clean-living advocate and had a screaming match with her no-good self-involved slag heap of a mother -- not that we advocate screaming at mothers, but since Dina has firmly and unhealthily (for her child) entrenched herself in the "boozy sorority sister" category rather than the "parent" one, we feel little remorse. And so word of their little spat gave us a reason to hope that maybe, maybe, Lindsay was going to shake off Dina's evil talons and get some ACTUAL advice and help from someone with ACTUAL maternal impulses and ACTUAL sense. (It's a crying shame when we feel more motherly toward her than most other people.)

But then, poor Lindsay had her little breakup hissyfit/makeup sex with Harry Morton, and it turns out she's just as unstable and co-dependent as ever. And in many ways, we still feel for her. She's young, she's wasting her talent, and she has no one out there giving her any real guidance except for a guy whose chain of restaurants is named after a particularly repulsive euphemism for female genitalia.

Still, there is no excuse for this:

[Photo courtesy of X17online.com.]

It's bad enough that she is wearing leggings, and indeed, leggings that are wholly exposed. But the real problem is that she's dragging Queen into her bloated abyss of dysfunction. Do NOT besmirch Queen with your ill-fitting, off-the-shoulder, faux-pants-loving fashion crimes, Lindsay! Do not taint Freddie Mercury and his musical legacy with that spandex stink. Please let him break free. He wants to; he said so in song.

And, please don't spill your energy drink, aptly named "Rehab" (I'm not kidding), all over it -- I suspect you need every suggestively named drop.