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In 1971 Don McLean sang of 'the day the music died'. The prediction came true in 2004...
Defenders Of The Hate by Anal Cunt

At age nineteen, Lindsay Lohan already had at least seven good years of cock in her. Best known for her role in "Mean Girls", she also played a wannabee bubble gum rocker in Disney's 2003 remake of "Freaky Friday". So naturally some genius at Casablanca records decided it wouldn't be a stretch for her to actually record music that could be rammed down the throats of comically indiscriminating teenagers.

The other reason Lindsay has been able to crawl up America's ass with a pitchfork and a noose is because of her highly publicized and ongoing feud with Hilary Duff. They've even written songs attacking each other in a sort of white girl rap-war. Hilary fired the opening salvo with "Haters", a masterwork of teenage rancor. Lindsay retaliated with "Rumors", on this album.

Who knows, maybe they'll stab each other, die, and be reincarnated as little bunnies with their entrails caught up in the driveshaft of a delivery truck. That will always be our dream, anyhow.

(That, and the one involving both of them, the steaming, bubbling hot-tub, the whipped cream, the handcuffs, Tylenol, caramelized apples and a medium-sized shark hungry for blood.)

As a reviewer, I've got precious little to work with when it comes to Speak. Buying this CD was another big mistake, like that time I tried to make my own gasoline to save money. Or the time I tried drinking said gasoline to recoup my losses. Lindsay's vocals bring to mind the fact that gas escapes from corpses in cremation ovens too, producing post mortem vocalizations (usually screams). Lindsay's management is the kind of class act that will eventually release these cremation screams set to Scandinavian death metal - trust me on this. When the time comes, these heroes of the music industry will stop at nothing in the name of forcing a dead kitten to relinquish the last few drops of sour milk left in its tract.

The opening track is called, "First" in which Lindsay sounds like a monkey screaming in a tree, hurling her own feces at the sugar-enriched armies of teenage fangirls, who devour it as eagerly as free pills in an Amsterdam sex show. During this song my dog humped the speakers and made a horrible shrieking noise, apparently in response to what he interpreted as another animal in must.

The next song is called "Symptoms of You", which I can only guess is about the glory of STD's. Here's a nifty TwistedEdge tip: If your girlfriend has a yeast infection, dust her glistening vagina liberally with confectioner's sugar. That way, when you go down on her, it's like a pastry. See? Practical romantic advice in a music review. You really should send us money. We light up your life.

In "Rumors", Lindsay complains that Hilary Duff will not allow her to live her life. What can I say? Hilary Duff bothers me too, but somehow, I found a way of dealing with it. If she's that bothered by it why doesn't she do what we've all wanted to do at one point or another: carjack a combine harvester, then run the bitch down with the blades rotating. Easy. Problem solved.

Then, finally after an excrutiating 40 minutes and 18 seconds of what felt like being in the chair of a sadistic, Medieval dentist, it was over. I removed the noose from around my neck, and wrote this hebephrenic review, channeling Jimi Hendrix on 21 hits of acid. It's what I do. How can I sum up the unique listening experience that is this scrotum-punch of a debut album? It's simple:

Lindsay Lohan is a fully engorged tick on the penis of American pop culture. We won't have it removed, because we think of it as an adornment, symbolizing our commitment to Casablanca Records, which is located near one of the seven entrances to Hell in Los Angeles. There's another at the KFC on Sunset, and one outside that charming little pharmacy at the Bel Age. Whether or not you bought this album like I did is unimportant - like a tapeworm in the gut of our popular culture, she's sunk her sugary little teeth in, and she's here to stay.

TwistedEdge Damage Report:

Retarded children commissioned to do the album art: 4
Blue whales harpooned by Lindsay Lohan: 13
Fire-spewing, Hawaiian gods angered by Lindsay Lohan: 6
Monkeys enslaved to Lindsay Lohan: 9
National monuments stolen by Lindsay Lohan: 3
Dogs chasing Lindsay Lohan: 88
Tentacles: 9


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