I’m not sure why, but I just pictured that floppy tit speaking in a charming Cockney accent. “Allo luv! Fancy meeting you ‘ere! Don’t mind me, just ‘avin a wee snooze in the sun before Coronation Street.”
Mermaids everywhere officially hung up their seashell bras and retired today after Lindsay Lohan was spotted strolling a beach in Ibiza looking like a sloppy-titted sea siren. And by sea siren, I mean she set off the siren that alerts beach visitors that the sea has been contaminated by toxic self-tanner sludge and random clumps of orange hair and the beach will be closed until further notice. No! She really does look like a mermaid; like Ariel, if Ariel sold her voice to Ursula for two baggies of coke instead of two legs.
Seeing the Apricot Ashtray slithering around the beaches of Ibiza with her floppy freckled pancakes hanging out makes me feel a lot of things (queasy, nauseous, dry heave-y) but mostly it makes me feel sorry for Ibiza. First Orlando Bloom gets into a dramatic douche fight Justin Bieber in a nightclub, and now Lindsay Lohan is assaulting eyes by serving up a heaping helping of sloppy side boob in one of White Oprah’s trashy old stretched-out Body Glove bathing suits from the 80s. Poor Ibiza; when did you become the Florida of Europe?
And speaking of Florida, apparently there are people in Ibiza who are dumb enough to let Lindsay operate a jet ski. It probably took her all of 10 minutes before she whipped out her phone, started texting her dealer, and rear-ended a dolphin. Then when the cops came to arrest her, she tried to blame it on a starfish. Wait, can you get a DUI on a jet ski? I’m sure Lindsay will find a way.
Pics: Fame Flynet
Something strange happened on Saturday night. Human hangover Lindsay Lohan was scheduled to appear at a press conference for The White Party in Linz, Austria, and she managed to arrive looking semi-sober, semi-clean, and standing upright. WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!? The Lindsay Lohan I know always looks like a trampy Cheeto that just woke up in a litter box filled with cigarette butts and day-old jizz and cat turds. I can’t remember the last time she didn’t resemble the Poison Cackler from Fraggle Rock.
But this Lindsay Lohan…I have no idea what’s going on here. Her hair doesn’t look like the tangled tails of a ginger rat king. Her face isn’t caked in 8 layers of rancid orange smegma and coke residue. Her toxic tar-scented vodka breath didn’t immediately wilt the bouquet of roses in her arms. Lindsay Lohan actually looks…good? Is good-ish a word? Good-adjacent maybe?
But before you say goodbye to your loved ones and die of shock, the Apricot Ashtray only managed to stay cleaned up for about 0.00003 seconds before she started morphing back into the rode-hard put-away filthy Lindsay we know and love. Lindsay left the press conference, went back to her hotel, took a whore’s bath, snorted 100 lines of coke cut with crystallized battery acid, and arrived to The White Party looking like this:
Let’s see: giant green bruise on her arm, floppy freckled tit hanging out of her dress, skin like a slimy 2-week-old rotten jack-o-lantern, hair that’s been styled with a melted suppository, overusing bronzer to the point where it looks like a homeless Mr. Hankey is squatting under her cheekbone. Yep, that’s our Lindsay! Reunited and it feeeels so gooood!
But I think I can see where it all started to go wrong. As you can see in the pictures below, Linds starts out looking normal, then sits down at a table in front of a microphone, where she proceeds to get more and more Lohan-y in the face. You don’t have to be a Detective La Toya to guess that clearly the microphone was made of coke and she ate it. Mystery solved!
Noted lying enthusiast Lindsay Lohan isn’t exactly in the position to be writing checks her ass can’t cash (literally, bitch is the human definition of non-sufficient funds) and yet she’s gone ahead and made the bold claim to BBC News that she won’t miss a single rehearsal or performance of the London revival of Speed-the-Plow. You hear that, Speed-the-Plow producers? Go ahead and return the mangy orange tabby you adopted from the SPCA, because the Apricot Ashtray don’t need no understudy!
But asked if she would be penalised for missing shows or rehearsals in London, she told the BBC: “That’s not going to happen.”
“That’s not on the cards. It’s not. I’m at a place in my life where I like the commitment. I’m looking forward to that part of it.”
The only thing LiLo likes more than bailing on responsibilities is swindling people out of cash, so I have no doubt that crafty ashtray will find a way to get her freckled ass to work. Every day at 4pm, her assistant will call 1-800-GOT-JUNK and tell them that a 120lb pile of orange trash needs to be removed from Lindsay’s hotel room and taken to The Playhouse theatre. Then a group of London rats will carry a passed-out LiLo into her dressing room, where she’ll wait for the director to find her with a note pinned to her shirt that reads: “I’m here! Pay up, bitches.” Remember, she didn’t promise she’d do a good job, just that she wasn’t going to miss a show. That sneaky loophole-finding LiLo.
Lindsay also warned BBC News that she is planning on moving to London because people see her as a ~serious~ actress there:
“For a long time, people looked at me as kind of a celebrity, which is something I never wanted. That’s not what I got into this industry for…People kind of forgot that, and I think now is a good time. And what better than to do it with the great people that I’m working with on stage in London…so that people can focus on the fact that I’m in this industry because I’m an actress and an artist and not just someone you take photos of?”
Yeah right. She’s probably moving to London because she saw an episode of Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings and wants to find out where she can get her hands on the super-powerful shit that lets him talk to pictures.
Here’s more of LiLo in London having brunch (aka breakfast cocktails) with her friends on Saturday morning. Damn, even when she cleans up, she still looks rough. I feel like Oliver and the rest of his Dickensian street urchin pals would be like “Oh shit, you touched LiLo? Go wash your hands.”
That crime scene tape really ties together the whole “middle-aged parking lot hooker found passed out in a Porta-Potty at a NASCAR race” look.
Lindsay Lohan turns 28 today, which means she isn’t getting a membership card to The 27 Club, which means she’ll live forever. When we’re all on our death beds, the nurse next to us will be flipping through her iHologramTablet and say to us, “It’s Lindsay Lohan Sheen Richardson Franco’s 94th birthday today and the judge dismissed the charges she got for killing a bunch of toddlers to sell their tiny organs on the black market for jenkem money.” (Yes, jenkem will be making a comeback in 66 years). LiLo will outlive us all! LiLo is a cracked out vampire and coke is her human blood. Since LiLo’s going to need more quick cash to buy more of her life elixir, she has officially filed one of the most ridiculous lawsuits of all-time.
Last December, LiLo’s lawyers (read: White Oprah who traded legal advice for sloppy handjobs with a janitor at LegalZoom) threatened to sue the makers of Grand Theft Auto V for basing a character on her without paying up. It took them 6 months, but they finally filed that lawsuit in a Manhattan court today. LiLo’s lawyers claim that the character of Lacey Jonas is a total copy + paste job, and now I really want to play Grand Theft Auto V, because I really way to play challenges where I get to hit tricks in the head with a vodka bottle at the club and suck off hoteliers for 8-balls and fashion show tickets. That sounds fun! Here’s the details from that mess of a lawsuit via Yahoo:
Lohan’s suit says a character named Lacey Jonas is an “unequivocal” reference to the “Mean Girls” and “Freaky Friday” star.
The suit says Lohan’s image, voice and styles from her clothing line are depicted. It says the game features West Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont hotel, where Lohan once lived.
The character also seeks help skirting paparazzi.
So the character is a fame whore who gets followed by the paparazzi and lives at a hotel in West Hollywood? That description is what you would get if you shoved Parasite Hilton, Brit Brit, Amanda Bynes, Lindsay Lohan and every other mess into a Vitamix and turned it on. LiLo should immediately fire White Oprah and that LegalZoom janitor as her lawyers, because they don’t know what they’re doing. What they should’ve done is accused Rockstar of using LiLo’s likeness for the character of Trevor:
The likeness is undeniable. The case would’ve been wrapped up in a second. The court would’ve awarded LiLo complete control of Rockstar, she would’ve changed the name to CrackRocksStar before running the company into the ground and snorting up its ashes. What could’ve been…
Here’s LiLo giving you lot lizard chic in NYC today.
When Lindsay Lohan told The New York Times that she was in London to do a revival of the David Mamet play Speed-The-Plow, I laughed and said, “Yeah, and a naked Alexander Skarsgard is waiting for me in my shower,” and then I weeped because the only thing waiting for me in my shower is a ratty, torn-up shower puff and grout mildew. Well, the FAA better warn pilots about flying
pigs Kardashians in the sky, because truthful words actually came out of Lindsay Lohan’s lie hole. LiLo’s going to be on the stage and I’m not talking about the second stage in a Spearmint Rhino during lunch hour on a Wednesday. She’s going to be on the London stage! LiLo should grab that glass of champagne behind her and celebrate. Did I type champagne? I meant sparkling chamomile tea, of course.
Playbill says that
LiLo’s understudy LiLo will star in Speed-The-Plow at The Playhouse Theater in London from September 24th to November 29th. I know, LiLo would sign up for something with “speed” and “plow” in its title. Lindsay Posner will direct and no other casting has been announced, because producers are still searching masochist sites for any actors who are willing to suffer massive amounts of pain while working with that leathery thorn in the ass. The producers released this synopsis about the play:
“When a hugely bankable star agrees to appear in a sure-fire commercial hit, film producers Bobby Gould and Charlie Fox are convinced this is the break of a lifetime. That is until Karen (played by Lindsay Lohan), a temporary secretary, derails the dream. When she persuades Bobby to dump the blockbuster in favour of a story which can only be described as box-office poison, Charlie is forced to resort to desperate measures….”
In other words, LiLo plays a trick who tries to fuck her way to the top and fails at it. That sums up the last 4 years of her career. She’s perfect for it!
I was going to say that Lindsay Posner should say “RIP!” to the hair on his head, but I looked at a picture of him and he’s bald. So he should say “RIP!” to the skin covering his skull, because he’s going to need to rip out something in frustration when LiLo shows up 6 hours late for the 800th time, suggests a pole dancing scene in the middle of act 1 and tells him that she really feels like her character needs to wear a gold Rolex that may or may not go missing one week into the play’s run.
Seen above with four friends he really relates to on an intellectual level, the mutated dirty tampon Adam Levine was on Howard Stern yesterday and Howard brought up Adam’s appearance on Lindsay Lohan’s list of famous and famous-ish slam pieces. The first rule of The Lindsay Lohan Fuck Piece Club is that you NEVER EVER admit to being in The Lindsay Lohan Fuck Piece Club. Because if you ever say the words, “I boned Lindsay Lohan,” the CDC will drop from the sky, drag you into a quarantine tent and boil your skin in hot ammonia for 30 days before tagging you and releasing you back into the wild. If you screw LiLo, you keep that between you, her and the new STD you two made while rubbing your skank bodies together. James Franco keeps denying that he ever stuck his douche stick in LiLo’s freckled plate of Hamburger Helper and now Adam Levine is denying the same thing.
“That’s not true. I did not have sexual intercourse with Lindsay Lohan.
When Howard asked Adam why dudes won’t admit to screwing LiLo, he dribbled out this nonsensical dingle:
That’s because I think we’re being truthful about that very specific thing. I can fucking see it on the paper, I’m getting much better at this!”
I don’t know what that means and I don’t think Adam Levine knows what that means. The burning sensation in his peen lips reminding him that he probably did screw Lindsay Lohan messed with his brains and he shat out a word salad without the dressing. You know, if a jar of old kitchen grease had tits, Adam Levine would fuck that jar full of old kitchen grease. He’d probably do it if it didn’t have tits, so I’m sure he did bone LiLo. But like every dude who bones LiLo, he’s never going to admit it unless he runs out of money, needs medical attention and wants to get to the front of the line at the free clinic.
Adam also did an interview with GQ where he was asked how he feels about being called a douchebag:
“Would it be really easy to assume that I was a douchebag? Definitely. One hundred percent. But that doesn’t mean that I am. Or maybe I am, I don’t know. Okay. So I’m gonna get really intricately self-reflective right now and ask myself the hard questions, to find out, once and for all, definitively, whether or not I’m a douchebag.”
All together now, “SPOILER ALERT, YES, you’re a douchebag!”
GQ also asked him why does it seem like he only dates models. Adam let out another stream of rambling foolery:
“Preference should never be looked down upon. Unless it’s based on something really shitty. I’m not saying I have a preference, but like, I want to date someone. Listen, there are a lot of women in this country, in many countries, who date men for their money. Okay? That’s despicable. Right? That’s not what we’re talking about here. Whatever does it for you, man. I don’t like feet. You know what I mean? But some people do. Some people have fucking foot fetishes. And it’s weird to me. But I don’t have to deal with it, because I don’t have that. You know?”
Listening to Adam on Howard Stern and reading his GQ interview made me like him for a split, quick millisecond. He is a mess. Listening to and reading his thought process is like watching a drunk bitch with physical Tourettes speed down the freeway in a car with a stuck shifter. He goes all over the place and I keep waiting for him to crash and get to the point. He’s like a Woody Allen character if Woody Allen wrote a movie for the Vice crowd.
And here’s the living and breathing positive gonorrhea test outside of Letterman yesterday.
There’s a theater producer in London who thinks that Lindsay Lohan, LINDSAY LOHAN, can memorize lines (I said “memorize” not “snort“) from a David Mamet play and show up on time for 8 performances a week including matinees which happen before her usual risin’ time of 4pm. This must be a serious insurance scam ala The Producers, because Lindsay Lohan doing live theater has all the makings of a train wreck and the only people who will pay to see that are people who love it when a play starts 4 hours late and people who really want to see her read lines written on the props because she didn’t memorize shit.
Since most of Hollywood cares about their nerves too much to deal with LiLo, she took her ass to London to troll for new work and her trolling paid off. LiLo sat front row at Jeremy Scott’s Moschino show in London yesterday and she told The New York Times that she’s in London to play Karen in a West End revival of David Mamet’s Speed-The-Plow. Madonna played Karen in the first production of Speed-The-Plow on Broadway in 1988 and Jeremy Piven’s douche ass left a Broadway production of it in 2008 when he ate too much sushi. And now LiLo’s going to be in it:
Ms. Lohan said that she has been in London for several months, preparing for a potential appearance in David Mamet’s “Speed-the-Plow” in the West End in November. “It’s the first time I’ve done a stage play or anything like that,” she said. “I’m nervous but I’m excited.”
None of that makes sense. Are we sure LiLo heard, right? Are we sure she heard someone actually ask her if she wants to be in Speed-the-Plow? Maybe she heard wrong and she was really asked, “Hey, do you want to get plowed for some speed?” If this is true, this is going to the mess of all messes and they should put the understudy’s name above LiLo’s on the marquee since she’s going to perform more.
And here’s more of LiLo at the Moschino men’s show trying to bring back a dingle stuck to the asshole of the 90s. I’m talking about the dreaded tattoo choker.
James Franco Wrote An Insufferable Short Story About All The Times That Lindsay Lohan Tried To Sex Him
In case you didn’t get it the first time, James Franco would like everyone who cares to know that even though his name is on Lindsay Lohan’s list of slam pieces, he never stuck his douche stick in her freckled carniceria. Massengill’s answer to Jack Kerouac wrote a 10 million word short story for Vice’s “fiction issue” about the times that the Chateau Marmont’s resident hussy Lindsay Lohan tried to get into his piss-stained, worn out chonies. In James’ piece titled “Bungalow 89” he goes back and forth between a story about Gus Van Sant stuff and LiLo stalking him, because he’s a literary mastermind and that’s how they do it. Within the first few seconds of James’ vomit puddle of words, it’s one hundred percent apparent that this is a work of fakery, because Chateau Marmont era Lindsay Lohan could barely string together two words let alone eight.
There was a Hollywood girl staying at Chateau Marmont. She had gotten a key to my room from the manager. I heard her put the key into my front door and turn it, but I had slid the dead bolt and that thing—I don’t know what you call it; it’s like a chain but made of two bars—that kept the door from opening.
She said, “James, open the door.”
Across the room was a picture of a boy dressed as a sailor with a red sailor cap, and except for his blondish hair (closer to my brother’s color) he looked like me.
She said, “Open the door, you bookworm punk blogger faggot.”
Eventually, James let LiLo into his room, but he only read to her. Because James Franco is that older boyfriend you had in high school who was a community college art major, always wore black and would read you the works of Allen Ginsburg under his Andy Warhol poster as you played with the edges of the Serge Gainsbourg vinyl cover he bought at a record store in “the city.”
My phone rang. She let it ring until I answered.
“You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”
“Do you think this is me? Lindsay Lohan. Say it. Say it, like you have ownership. It’s not my name anymore.”
“I just want to sleep on your couch. I’m lonely.”
“We’re not going to have sex. If you want to come in, I’ll read you a story.”
“A bedtime story?”
“It’s called ‘A Perfect Day for Bananafish.’”
Do you think I’ve created this? This dragon girl, lion girl, Hollywood hellion, terror of Sunset Boulevard, minor in the clubs, Chateau Demon? Do you think this is me?
James read Salinger to Lindsay Lohan (“Wasn’t that movie starring the chick from Clueless the TV show about me torture enough?! ” – JD Salinger’s ghost) and she kept trying to bump crab bushes with him.
Now we were lying in bed. I wasn’t going to fuck her. She had her head on my shoulder. She started to talk. I let her.
LiLo tells James a rambling, incoherent story about Meryl Streep and White Oprah and fucking a Greek guy in the bathroom of Bungalow 8 and then James ends with this:
Every night Lindsay looked for me. My Russian friend, Drew, was always around like a wraith. He, like the blond painting, was my doppelgänger, writing scripts about rape and murder. A Hollywood Dostoyevsky, he had gambled his money away. We played a ton of ping-pong. My room was on the second level, the exterior walls hugged by vines. Every night Lindsay looked for me, and I hid. Out the window was Hollywood.
Who should I feel sorry for more? James Franco? Lindsay Lohan? Salinger for being dragged into this? Or myself for reading that entire mess before bedtime last night?
This is obviously a coke-infused fairy tale, because it’s pretty damn obvious that LiLo and James made beautiful music together and by “beautiful music” I mean they both simultaneously screamed “IT BURNS!” when their down low parts touched. And you have to give it to James Franco. He found the most pretentious and insufferable way of saying, “I fucked Lindsay Lohan but if I keep saying I didn’t, I’ll start to believe it and those warts will go away.”
Here’s LiLo looking liked a cracked out Lawrence of Arabia while trolling around London last night.
I’m not sure what’s more fascinating to me right now: that GQ managed to find a handsome unfrozen caveman and Photoshop him to look like Channing Tatum, or that 50 Cent is somebody’s life coach. Newsflash, whoever hired 50 Cent to coach their life: never take life advice from someone who repeatedly bumped down-lows with Chelsea Handler. Or someone who’s name loosely translates to “enough for a snack pack of Keebler Cheese & Peanut Butter crackers at the gas station”.
But that nameless rando who chose 50 Cent as a mentor might not be the only one who should pick up the phone and ask Iyanla to fix their life; during an interview with GQ, Channing Tatum – the human definition of “Shhhh, no talking” – admitted that nothing makes his peen-hole smile like sucking the glass dick and getting druuuunk, and not just on the weekends or at lunch like the rest of us:
“I probably drink too much, you know. My wife, that’s what she bought into. I’m probably a pretty high-functioning, I guess, you know, I would say, alcoholic, I guess. There’s probably a tendency to escape. I equate it to creativity, and I definitely equate it to having a good time.”
This is where I’d normally picture a drunk Channing Tatum stumbling around like the missing link, chugging Baileys from the bottle and busting out some stripper moves before blacking out and pissing his Magic Mike sweatpants, but after reading about Deryck Whibley personal Met Gala elevator fight with the bottle yesterday, Channing Tatum’s constant Quest for Firewater doesn’t seem as funny. Then again, just give me some time. I’m sure by tomorrow, imagining Channing getting next-level hammered and and practicing his Cajun accent will be absolutely delightful.
Here’s more of Chuggin’ Tatum in GQ looking like the second biggest drinker at SC&P (second only to Don Draper’s extra-thirsty trouser tube) in a vaguely 7th season Mad Men-y photo shoot. Then again, it could be any old present-day hipster house. Regardless of what they were going for, I’m sure they had to explain it to Channing Tatum 40+ times before he stopped getting distracted by all the shiny things and started paying attention.
Those may or may not be cokey boogers up her nostrils, but if they are, then ten seconds after this picture was taken, Pete Doherty suddenly appeared and snorted those good shit dingles right out of her nose. He can smell ‘em from miles away.
Radar (so snort this with a grain of salt) says that a 380th stay in rehab and a come to Jesus talk from Oprah really turned things around for Lindsay Lohan. They say that she’s taken a piece of the $2 million she got for that reality show and swallowed it down and snorted it up. Some source says LiLo is regularly doing Ecstasy and MDMA, because she’s taking a lot of psych meds and if she’s tested, the drugs will only show up as amphetamines. The source dribbled this out:
“Right now she is doing a lot of Ecstasy and Molly because with the psych meds she is on, if she is tested it will only show up as amphetamine, which is prescribed to her so it’s ‘safe.’[She takes] meds such as Dilaudid, Ambien, Adderall, Zoloft, Trazodone and Nexium to treat psychiatric problems. She will never get off Adderall and whatever her illegal drug of choice is at the moment. With her friends she just sort of laughs about sobriety. Everyone kind of just thinks she’s a joke now.”
While I would be surprised if LiLo really did swallow down half of a Rite-Aid pharmacy and washed it down with some MDMA punch, that source must be on some serious shit too, because they have no idea what’s coming out of their mouth. I know acid reflux can make a ho go absolutely crazy and lose their minds, but since when it is a mental condition and since when is Nexium a psych med? And Dilaudid is a painkiller. Either Radar just randomly threw out the name of some meds hoping that at least a few will stick or LiLo’s back alley pharmacist ripped her off when he gave her some Nexium for mental problems.
Oh, and I know this goes without saying, but LiLo’s not doing MDMA. The black kid is.