Hey, Lindsay Lohan here…
The great folks at LG asked me if I wanted to comment on all the craziness that’s been happening in my life these past few days, and…well, since I can’t snort coke off a hooker’s ass anymore or go out spending some mad dime on shopping, I said “yes.” So, here we go…
My name is Lindsay Lohan and I’m a drug addict.
I’m writing you from drug rehab. It’s boring as hell. My roommates are crack-heads. The orderlies want to bang me. The food sucks, but that’s okay, because I intend on losing a few pounds while I’m here. Have you noticed how fat I’ve gotten these past few months? Sure, my boobs are bigger, but my ass is beginning to curdle like cottage cheese and I have no intention of being a poster girl for all the Drug Addicted Fatass Celebutards out there. I’ll leave that job to that Ugly Betty actress. (Did you see her chunky butt when she accepted her Golden Globe? It’s called Weight Watchers, Ms Ugly Betty. Next time you go jiggling up to accept an award, be sure to suck in your gut a few feet, so you don’t accidentally knock Jack Nicholson out of his seat.)
I don’t know exactly how I ended up in this place. Well, I guess I kinda do. DRUGZZZ! BOOZZEE! SEXXX! My mom wants to blame the others. Paris, Tara, Nicole, Britney, Dakota… tho’ it’s not like they shoved the drugs up my ass or handed me a fist full of pills that I could wash down on a Sunday morning with some vodka, Mountain Dew, and celery sticks. I did this all to myself. Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s the pressure. Maybe it’s the making movies, partying all the time, and going out with all the celebrities that’s making me depressed.
My life is impossible. My life is crap. My life is all a charade of nothingness, mixed with a few tabs of acid and one really good hit of fantastic crack.
And the funny part: All of you want to BE ME. I love all these little girls who want to be like me. They dress like me. Talk like me. And all of you reading this newsletter. I’ll bet my career that at one point or another, you wanted to have my life. You wanted my breasts. You’ve dreamed of boning my boyfriends. I am anorexic so you want to be anorexic. Is it because you’re boring that you copy me? Is it because you’re ugly? Is it because nobody likes you? Is it because you’re probably never going to amount to anything?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Get a life people. I’m in freaking rehab. You want to be me? What a joke. Even if you tried, you’ll only come off as some helpless drug addled poseur. And an ugly one. You can’t handle being me, because you suck (and before you go making fun of my freckles coming out of my vajayjay, screw you. My freckles are freaking beautiful).
Love & Laxatives,
Lindsay Lohan
P.S. Read my blog if you want to keep up with what I’m doing in rehab these days. I’ll be updating it again, whenever a freaking feel like it. Also, I’m on Twitter, sparklepuss, so you can keep up with what I’m doing on IM or your mobile phone. You’re Fat.
