Pure sea jasper, Red Bull, fake tanner, a Baccarat crack pipe, leggings with secret crotch pockets for stolen jewelry, Fix-A-Flat lip injections and the hole in the California Justice System she keeps fucking raw are just a few of the loves of Lindsay Lohan’s life and you can add a kicking and screaming Heath Ledger to that list whether he likes it or not. Star Magazine (via Radar) somehow magically found Lindsay Lohan’s private diaries in their paws and they may or may not have signed a scribbled contract on a T.G.I. Friday’s cocktail napkin stating that they will not disclose that White Oprah sold it them for a few Mohegan Sun gambling chips and a grey goose. (Nobody tell White Oprah that contrary to what the drunk she gave a handy to in the parking lot told her, vodka does not come from the pee hole of a grey goose.)
In an entry from Memoirs of a Cokey dated January 22, 2008, LiLo cries about how she’ll never feel Heath’s touch again.
“Today Heath died. I’m in love with him…. He was the love of my life. He taught me so much, and he was everything I’ve ever wanted and more. I want to hear him laugh and hold me. I crave his touch and care.”
Shortly after Heath’s death, both White Oprah and Michael Lohan claimed that LiLo was dating him and was supposed to fly to NYC to be with him just days after he overdosed. I think the coroner should update Heath’s death certificate to read, “Cause of Death: Lindsay Lohan was about to visit him.”
Blohan writes in other entries that she was having an affair with JFK, couldn’t wait to start filming Something’s Gotta Give, and suspected that her housekeeper was an undercover CIA agent who was lacing her barbiturates with arsenic. So all of this should be taken with a grain of coke.