Fughan Holiday


Dear Ali Lohan,

I don’t really want to do this to you — haven’t you had enough problems lately? Your family is f’ed — but I have to, for several reasons:

a) No one — NO ONE — is leaving the house right now.  All our usual, reliable fugly subjects are locked up at home, stock-piling their supply of Crocs to be worn to formal events during the upcoming awards season. You’re the only one outside now, Lohan. You’re the only deer in the Fug Forest and I have but one bullet remaining. It has your name on it.

b) Are you wearing STIRRUP PANTS? I want to stab something.

c) All of this might have earned you a pass, except you subjected us to A Lohan Holiday. Reader, please, go listen to it. It will NEVER LEAVE YOUR BRAIN. Consider it my gift to you, this holiday season. And if someone could tell me what a “Lohan Holiday” entails, I would be incredibly grateful. I have my suspicions, but they are legally questionable.

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