Lindsay Lohan

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.

Okay. So I know I wasn't going to talk about her anymore. I needed to move on, remember? I needed to find a new starlet to love despite the fact that everyone else hates her, despite the fact that she can't dress herself, despite the fact that I really don't get along with her mother. I needed to find another actress I hate to love.  Maybe Kiki Dunst? Sure, she can't dress herself, but she DOES seem like she might be amusing to hang out with.  I think she'd probably be willing to spend a Saturday tagging along with you on your boring errands, making rude cracks about all your most heinous ex-boyfriends and eating an entire bag of Salt and Vinegar potato chips in the car. That's an important skill. And her mother owns a spa, so, hey: free waxing!  But when it comes right down to it, it's been hard to move on, people. When Brandon Davis launched The Firecrotch Diatribe,  I almost cracked.  No one talks about my girl like that, even if she IS running around town in a garbage bag and pleather pedal-pushers.

But now, I have to break my silence:

Look, I don't know what Lindsay's doing when she goes out. Is she drinking? I surely don't know. Is she dabbling in something more illicit? I certainly have no idea.  However, it does seem to me that if she DOESN'T want people SUSPECTING that she's doing anything other than dancing, drinking Diet Coke, and dating several men who live in Europe, she needs to not dress like this. Because, seriously? Drugs are pretty much the only rational explanation.

Okay, Dina Lohan. It's time. We need to have some words.

First off, I hate what you're wearing. No drop-waisted shift should plunge as far down as your crotch. You look misshapen. I'm sure you figured this was a savvy, alluring technique for getting people to stare at it -- and, mission accomplished, because indeed they are, but only to wonder why you are treating your groin like some kind of marquee spot on your body when you can't even muster any concern for what's happening to the child who shot out of that groin 20 years ago.

Because, Dina, she is f'ed up. MAJORLY f'ed up.

Look at her a month ago:

She has a bit of sparkle -- there's something in her eyes, at least. It's almost impish. I call it "life." It's charming.

Whatever it was, though, seems to have been extinguised of late. Take, for instance, this photo from yesterday:

Check out her dazed quarter-smile and heavy lids, Dina. I wish I could say the other photos were better, but honestly, she's either got this expression of cracked-out bemusement on her face or she's mugging excessively -- there is maybe one photo that's in between, and even there, her eyes aren't quite focused.

And then there's this photo from the day before:

It's not as bad -- but then, she's probably on better behavior, seeing as she spent much of the red-carpet portion of A Prairie Home Companion's premiere standing between Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep, neither of whom would likely appreciate being the bread in a drooling-starlet sandwich. But you can't ignore that spaceyness in her irises. It's there. They're not connecting.

And day or so before that, here it is again:

Look into her face, Dina. Again, I wish this were just one bad photo, but they're all like this. Do you not see? How are you letting this happen? You're very clearly around her a lot, and you have a reputation for liking to club and schmooze through The Scene almost as much as your child does, so you can't plead ignorance of all the temptations. You know. And, I'm not insisting she's skiing down a mountain of fresh white Colombian snow or anything, but... LOOK AT HER. I'm not kidding, hag. Something's either missing or overmedicated or has been beaten into submission, and not for nothing, she was parading around with Kate Moss recently like they'd been surgically conjoined.

Even if her recent inability to look sober or cognizant in photographs is a bit startling, Dina, it's still not surprising given that for years now we've watched her turn into an undirected party girl. Where have you been? Yeah, I know, your husband, the rage, the jail, blah blah blah, it was all really tragic. I get that. But I don't think a competent mother would have let that deter her from protecting her kids -- actually, wouldn't it have made most moms more protective even under normal, non-Hollywood circumstances? Don't you GET that child actors need a lot of common-sense support so they don't lose their heads and fry their brains? Don't you get that a feud-prone child actor with severe Daddy issues might need even more of that common sense support? And as you watched her go through a heartbreaking public breakup and the subsequent Russian roulette of one-night-stands, did it not occur to you that she might need all the aforementioned help plus a dash of tough love? Have you NEVER watched the E! network? Are you somehow, impossibly, ridiculously confused about what exactly goes into a True Hollywood Story, and how the franchise has sustained itself largely on coked-out men and women who shot to stardom too fast and couldn't cope? Remember the cast of Diff'rent Strokes?

Know what scares me the most, though?

The fact that you have more of them to ignore. I can only hope they don't get sucked into the vortex. How creepy is this photo? Your younger child -- you remember her, right? -- looks sort of tragically amused that Lindsay is squeezing onto her to tightly, perhaps because she's aware that if she leaves, Lindsay and her droopy eyelids will go careening backwards into the brick wall.

So here's the deal, Dina: DEAL WITH THIS STUFF. Don't just sweep it under the rug or line it up the evidence and snort it into obscurity. In the words of what's becoming our GFY mantra, "Sack UP, ho." Stop partying like you're 19 and help your oldest child. If she had any energy left she'd probably be crying out for it. Be her mother, not her playdate.