Come and Get it, LiLo

Okay, my darlings. The gloves are off. No, seriously. I was wearing my neon green fingerless gloves this morning and I just took them off. What prompted such a drastic action, you ask? Why have I willingly plummeted back to the realms of the hopelessly un-hip?

Lindsay Lohan is totally out of control.

We all read US Weekly. We see the stories on Access Hollywood. Come on, admit it. You catch it, if even just in passing. You can't live in our society and consider yourself up to speed with pop culture unless you know something about this girl and what the media machine says she is allegedly doing. She charmed us in the remake of the Parent Trap. We nodded our heads in pleasant surprise at Freaky Friday. And now, that nod has been replaced with a judgemental shake. Mean Girls was great, but Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen? It's symbolic of the downfall of our little angel LiLo.

The girl's parents are fighting over who gets her money, and PapaBear is famous for being a touch violent. She got "That 70's show" guy Fez to go all Kabbalah on us, and then ended it (I thought they were getting MARRIED! I hid in my room for days when I found out). Does she have fake boobs or not? The color of her skin has helped us coin the phrase tanorexic (which I still think makes no sense). She parties. She teaches us which Juicy Couture clothes are cool to wear. And now she's really gone and done it.

She is filming an untitled project in New Orleans. And, just like her last shoot (Herbie: Fully Loaded), she is fucking it all up. According to our friends at Entertainment Tonight, Star magazine, etc, her stand-in is getting a full workout, since Lindsay doesn't like doing rehearsals. When she finally gets in the shot, she flubs her lines. Luckily, she has little time on the set to mess shit up because she has several ailments that keep her bedridden. This has slowed the production almost to a halt.

Despite the sickness, she has been spotted at every hot nightclub in the city dancing on tables, frantically text messaging friends, and wreaking general havoc on Louisianian soil. She must take a lot of Airborne to recover that quickly.

We also know about Linday's relationship with everyone's favorite party girl Tara Reid. Recently, when Tara joined us all back in the World of the Sober for a solid fifteen minutes, she stopped popping ping pong balls out of her hoo-hah for quarters to feed the SkyBar jukebox and declared that Lindsay needs to calm down a little.

*editor's note: After giving the statement, satisfied with her new-found sense of righteousness, Tara hopped on an issue bus and set out to establish her HandJobs for People Who Take Care of Kids foundation.*

So what do we do about this young lady? How can WE, the little people, help LiLo? Well, I'm done sitting around and letting this situation escalate.

I CHALLENGE LINDSAY LOHAN TO A MUDWRESTLING MATCH.

That's right. In order to save this girl, I am going to strip down to my white Fred Segal tank top and Victoria's Secret flirty-yet-feminine boxers and GET DIRTY. If I win, she stays out of bars and hangs out only at roller rinks and the movies. In addition, she only kisses boys with tongue on the second date, and continues doing inoffensive, competent pictures that the whole family can enjoy. She can keep the implants, too.

If she is able to topple my nearly six-foot figure, then she can do whatever she wants. She can bite off a chunk of Hilary Duff's face and show it to her, or she could have anal with Marlon Wayans...or Hillary Duff. Whatever she wants.

This is Los Angeles, people. The Land of the Free and Prettier than You. We can make this happen. We can save this girl from a horrible demise. Do you ever want to see Little Lindsay emerge from a Little Armenia alley in smeared black eyeliner, orange daisy dukes and a grease-stained, unraveling tube top offering BJs for a frapuccino? No. You don't. Neither do I. Come support us at our wrestling match. It's for the good of our nation.

dirty. g