Remember when Mischa Barton did stuff?  Like that time she made that Disney tv movie about dolphins, or that other time she was the single worst thing on a cartoonishly bad prime time soap and then they killed her off?  For the last few years, her career has consisted solely of dressing like a blind lunatic and slouching around like Quasi Modo.  I literally have no idea why she’s still famous, but honestly, if she doesn’t stop flashing me I’m going to buy a circus bear and jab it with a stick for about an hour and a half before I set it loose in her neighbourhood.

Dear Mischa,

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GIRL, STAND UP STRAIGHT!  That hideous dress (it’s Dior, so it probably cost as much as a semester of my sister’s tuition) is clearly not built to hold itself up by will alone.  I am tired of you and I am tired as hell of your sad, unsupported breasts in my face.  Invest in underclothes.  Also, get a goddamn job.

Kisses,
Sarah

Captain Wardrobe Malfunction at the Dior Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2009 show in Paris:

I don’t know about you, but after looking at these pictures of supermodel Marisa Miller in her bikini, I suddenly have a hankerin’ for a little ice cream. Some Caramel Pecan Nipple, maybe. A little Juggmocha Almond Fudge. Or a classic, like Strawboobies and Cream. Oh, who are we kidding? I’ll probably just eat all three straight out of the carton while sobbing on the couch in my sweatpants. No reason today should be any different.