Lily Allen. Barred From US. Will still be mine.

Ah, Lily.

Temporarily barred from the US for beating up paparazzi, backtracking after going a tad to far in blowing the whole thing off and slagging the entire nation.

Ah, Lily.

I’d read about Lily long before even hearing any of her tunes. The advantage of reading the English music mags… besides the mix CD’s and learning which Eastender is about to release a really bad album… is getting to know who will be the next big thing to come over.

Or who will be the next British musical act to demonstrate that two hundred years of divergent culture with our former mother country has lead to differing tastes. (Darkness or Robbie Williams, anyone?)

So I knew of Lily by reputation and description. I didn’t quite see why she was such an indie love goddess.

And then I finally heard her music. What wit, what lovely mix of plucky tunes and dark lyrics. She was just the kind of woman you wanted to insult you while you continued to buy her drinks/

Also a woman who would have needed false id to get into a US bar until relatively recently, but let’s not worry about that now.

The point is that she is just a fun mix of wit and dysfunction, the woman you want for your next bad relationship.

Oh, hurry, oh hurry Lily’s immigration attorneys. Oh move swiftly INS officials.

She must come to our country, her destiny… her time with me which will lead to a deeply insulting song about me on her next album can’t be postponed any longer.

And no… I won’t settle for Amy Winehouse or Regina Spektor. So don’t even try bringing them up.

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