If you've ever wondered what it would be like to be stuck in an elevator with Leeza Gibbons and an 8-ball of weak blow, get to a newsstand! OK Magazine has finally made its American debut, and I'm one small but decisive step closer to joining a militia.

In between features on the New Man in Mischa Barton's Life (it's a PUPPY!) and the A-List's secret getaway (it's SANTA MONICA! Seriously, they give you directions and everything) is my favorite: an intimate conversation and fashion layout with Tara Reid.

Now, on shoots like this, there are stylists and lighting guys and make-up artists and publicists and managers and photoshoppers and airbrushers and on and on. Yet:

We must assume that the intended effect is "sexy, mysterious and alluring", but the result is more "drunk, startled and digesting hot wings." My artist's rendering:

In the Q&A, Tara is asked about her infamous red-carpet exposed-boob incident:
OK!: There was a lot of comment in the press last year about your wardrobe malfunction at P. Diddy's party...
Tara: I think it's the dumbest thing in the world. I mean in Europe, people don't have a top on, and they just hang out at the beach. Who cares? It just shows people's ignorance.

Good call. Going in front of dozens of photographers and having your dress fall clean off your body without you so much as twitching? Totally, intimidatingly classy. Let's you and me have a motherfucking General Foods International Coffee one of these days. On me. Pinkies all out and everything.

I am reminded of Tara's interview with the New York Post, in which she lamented her party-girl image thusly: "I'm known as this retard." Oh, Tara. I don't think you're a retard. See, my cousin Mike has Down's Syndrome, and he knows when his shirt is on.

And this is just the tip of the shit-berg. OK Magazine is on newsstands now. Or you could watch the Style Channel and slap yourself over and over. Your call.