Amanda Bynes’ neighbors are collectively throwing an army of side-eyes at the media for painting her as nothing but a spoiled dumb stoner, because they think she has serious mental problems. Like “5150 this ho and get Daddy Spears to make her some Velveeta grits” kind of mental problems.
One of Amanda’s neighbors tells TMZ that he once watched her have a serious conversation with an inanimate object and other neighbors have seen her talking to no one. They haven’t told the authorities or her family or anything, because they don’t want to get involved. Besides, when you go to the authorities and tell them Amanda is acting crazy, they won’t give you a money order made out to cash, so it’s better just to go to TMZ.
Some people who work out next to Amanda at the Equinox in West Hollywood also say that she regularly brings the crazy. Amanda always looks dazed, has conversations with herself, laughs for no reason and they say she’s getting worse and worse.
Yes, Amanda could be in need of a 5150, but it could also be nothing. If you asked my neighbors about me, they’d probably say that I’m crazy with invisible friends and I regularly talk to myself in the hallways and the only visits I get are from the Fresh Direct delivery people and some dude with a bulging backpack that smells like Irish Spring and cheap cologne (that’s my weed man). I mean, I talk to myself all the time. I know all of my posts read like I just barfed out the words in 10 seconds, but sometimes I put some serious thought into this shit. Finding different ways to describe the journey of a fart is hard work. So sometimes when I’m walking my dog, I’ll write the post in my head and then say it out loud to myself. I’m sure many people who have witnessed me talking to myself have called Bellevue to tell them that one of their patients escaped to Brooklyn. “You better come quick and you better bring a tranquilizer gun, because it looks like he’s taken a little black dog hostage” is what they say to the operator at Bellevue.
What I’m saying is that Amanda and I should share a room at Bellevue, because we’re both fucking nuts.
Or this could really, really be nothing. Maybe Amanda’s just talking into her Bluetooth headset? Because talking into a Bluetooth headset makes everyone look like a schizophrenic.