Fugrophobia

All I know is, BAI LING IS BACK, BABY:

And I’ve NEVER been happier. Sure, she looks crazy. But Bai Ling OUGHT to look like this. Her brief, recent foray into respectability made me confused and nauseated. Bai Ling is not Bai Ling if she isn’t wearing a skirt the size of an Ace bandage and seventeen different accessories she may or may not have accidentally borrowed from Forever 21. THIS is the order of things. The sun sets in the west, Diet Coke is fizzy, Paris Hilton will attend the opening of an eyeball, and Bai Ling dresses as though she’s attempting, like a black widow, to lure the likes of Jon Gosselin into her web of youthful, devil-may-care, Ed-Hardy-adjacent skankwear. THAT IS HOW THINGS OUGHT TO BE. And, if all goes well, and Bai Ling DOES date Jon Gosselin, I feel that we can all rest assured that MAGICALLY and MAJESTICALLY she will somehow render him impotent and invisible to the rest of the known world. Suddenly, readers, I know, with complete certainty, that this is her fate. Bai Ling is a famewhore, yes, but I feel confident that she is not without a moral center, and if dating Jon Gosselin will both render her more famous AND she can do us a public service by, say, BEWITCHING HIM into entering a cloistered monastery away from the prying eyes of, oh, EVERYONE CURRENTLY ALIVE ON PLANET EARTH, I trust that she will do so. And if tattooed leggings and a shirt the size of a lobster bib are what’s required of this task than I am sure you will all join me in wishing her a hearty GOOD LUCK. How do I know this is her fate, you ask? Well, I didn’t get any sleep last night and I’m out of coffee and I’m pretty sure this weird feeling is what it’s like to be psychic.