One last post before I shut it down for the night...
When I awoke this morning to discover that Lindsey had finally -- finally -- showed some skin, I was quite happy. Not because I've been waiting with bated breath for Lindsey to disrobe, but because it wasn't a paparazzi nipple-slip or missing-panties shot. These pics could be in Playboy, professional photo-shopped art prints almost.
I have to say that my respect level for Lindsey skyrocketed immediately. We're talking a moonshot going from zero to mach 3 in the flash of a boob.
Why? Because it shows me that Lindsey isn't like all the others. She doesn't just want to play a sex symbol on TV. She wants to actually be one.
I mean, what is Britney Spears but a stripper that doesn't strip? And she wants, what exactly? Fame and fortune? Maybe for the "singing" stuff and her attempts at acting, but do we usually give out fame and fortune to strippers that don't strip? Um, no.
Stripping is a tease in and of itself. You can look, but you can't touch. I'll take off my clothes for you, but I won't have sex with you. That's the tease. You add another layer of tease to it and it just becomes annoying.
Yes, I see you Britney in that little school girl skirt, your little red jumpsuit, that skin-tight skin-colored outfit with your ripped little body and that snake, straight out of a burlesque act (only no pasties here fellas...this is music...or something). And all those recent pictures of you strung out and half-mad, no bra and nipples rearing out, missing your underwear or wearing nothing but.
See, Brit, you wanted to ride sex all the way to the top, but you never wanted to truly put out. Neither did Paris, but at least she was a porn star in private. Can't do it in public...oh no. At least not all the way. At least not for real. She'll wear the skimpy dresses and the tiny bathing suits and the lingerie...but Paris go all the way?
Only on her cameraphone.
So kudos Lindsey. You got balls, and I like that.