Ah, Lindsay. We can't somehow muster the same relish this time around. What is it? We thought it was just our hangovers, but you've changed. Remember the first second time? Now you've lost one of your assistants and your shithead boyfriend, and even Samantha Ronson is backing away from you. You're facing serious jail time, and unlike with Paris, no one's dying to see you fail to quote the Bible to Larry King. And while your arrest report is telling us "uppers", your mugshot tells us you're a Debbie Downer these days. It's no wonder; we can think of exactly two people willing to hang out with you at this point: your saintly father, and Pete, though Kate might never do coke with you again, though that's maybe a good thing. Which brings us to us.

Just for you, we're going back on the moderation pills tonight, and we promise to be there for you in other ways, too. We're all in this together. And in order to inspire us to make a good joke, you have to amuse us. So please, sober up, mind your people and places and things, and let Faith Hill drive traffic a little longer.

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