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.
Lindsay Lohan Won’t Swear Under Oath About That Miscarriage Because She Wants The Court To Respect Her Privacy
HA! The only two words that make less sense together than Lohan and Privacy are Kardashian and Privacy. Then again, Lindsay Lohan has dried hair extension glue and coke dust for brains, so she probably thinks that going 24-hours without notifying the paps that her drunk freckled ass will be stumbling out of a club counts as private.
Earlier this week, it was reported that the Apricot Ashtray tried to weasel her way out of paying $5 million to D.N.A.M. Apparel, the company that made her 6126 line of cheap-looking stretch pants, by using the miscarriage she admitted to on OWN’s Lindsay as an excuse for why she never responded to their lawsuit, going so far as to swearing in court documents that she was dealing with a miscarriage.
However, TMZ says that lawyers for D.N.A.M. Apparel know that you don’t have to be Miss Cleo to guess that Lohan is mouth-farting out lies, but are willing to give her the benefit of the doubt by having her swear under oath in a court of law on either a bible, a bottle of vodka, or a stack of Life Size DVDs that she’s telling the truth. Ruh roh! The t-t-t-truth? What’s that?!?
Since telling the truth is a foreign concept, and lying on the stand isn’t an option since her acting skills made a break for it somewhere around the time she made I Know Who Killed Me, Lohan had her lawyer respond with this:
“The court does not need the media circus that would ensue if counsel is allowed to invade Lohan’s privacy and delve into her mental state regarding her sobriety and miscarriage.”
Privacy? THIS BITCH! Does she think we all woke up with amnesia and somehow forgot about the time she accepted a bag full of Oprah Cash in exchange for letting a reality show camera crew follow her around? Besides, regardless of whether or not she takes the stand and pushes out some salty freckled tears over her “miscarriage”, it’s laughable that D.N.A.M. Apparel actually thinks they’ll get paid. Her lawyer should have just replied to their lawyers with a link to her IMDB page with a note that said “LOL, like this bitch has $5 million. Good one, guys.”
Lindsay Lohan is a lying liar with a history of lie-telling, so when she pushed out some salty freckled tears and admitted to suffering a miscarriage in the finale of Lindsay on OWN, most of grabbed a grain of salt and requested she have several seats, because there was a 99% chance (with a 1% margin of error) that the Apricot Ashtray had made the whole thing up as an excuse for fucking around and stalling production, and just generally being a drunk two-legged useless.
Now TMZ says that Lindsay has taken her miscarriage story all the way to a court of law. One year ago, Lohan was sued for $5 million by D.N.A.M. Apparel, the company that made her 6126 line of leggings, for being a dumb drunk druggie mess who made it impossible for them to sell any of her expensive stretch pants. They put the law suit on hold while she went to rehab, but when Lohan was finally released (“Thanks for the vacay, see you next year!”) she failed to respond to the lawsuit, so she lost the case. But because nothing is ever Lohan’s fault and taking responsibility is for suckers, she’s sworn in court documents that the reason for ignoring the lawsuit is this:
“I have been overwhelmed since leaving rehab and dealing with my sobriety and a miscarriage.”
Leave it to the Apricot Ashtray to trot out a miscarriage, phony or not, as an excuse to why she ignored a $5 million lawsuit. Not to mention it was totally unnecessary; she could have just scrawled “I’M A LOHAN” in coke residue all over the court documents, and the judge would have nodded his head in agreement, accepted that as a valid excuse, and thrown out the lawsuit on the grounds of being foolish enough to go into business with Lindsay Lohan.
And speaking of coke heads, according to The Sunday Times, the party rats of Britain snort so much blow that their coke-piss has contaminated the drinking water. Upon hearing the news that Britain has tuned into a real-life Willy Wonka land of cocaine drinking fountains, Lohan frantically packed a suitcase and high-tailed it across the pond, where for the first time in her life when she says she’s drinking water she’ll actually be drinking water. Here’s more of Lohan and a poor dog in London, who no doubt died of an overdose after posing with her, as well as Lohan posing with the owner of G-A-Y, Jeremy Joseph, and his dog Jacob, who’s probably fine because he’s built up a high-tolerance from years of drinking coke-piss out of the toilets.