TMZ reported earlier that Lindsay Lohan is planning to stay in rehab through the week for more treatment, but the itch of freedom must have been too tempting to not scratch, because Radar is saying that the bitch is out! Hide yo baby strollers! Hide yo shake ‘n bake meth lab! Hide yo Gandhi quotes! Radar didn’t really say what their proof is for LiLo’s final Betty Ford bow, but if you peek out your vertical blinds and see White Oprah on the ho stroll seductively pulling up her skirt to reveal tickets to her daughter’s first post-rehab “I’M A CHANGED MESS” interview, you know that shit is true.

LiLo is expected to drive back to Los Angeles later today and hide out in her new Venice Beach apartment. White Oprah used Radar’s blow horn to plead to the paps to stay away:

“I want to keep everyone safe and make sure there is no car chase. I don’t want to discuss her plans after she leaves Betty Ford because I want to avoid being followed. She doesn’t need the stress right now, I just want to move on and have a positive year. It has been a long two years for us, and we are happy that it’s almost over.”

That White Oprah is so cute. Totally saying “don’t follow us” with a straight mouth even though we all know Ali Lohan’s on the corner selling detailed maps to the Lohan hideaway in empty Svedka bottles. And speaking of recycling, above is a screen shot from LiLo’s reupholstered pussy (copyright: Chris Rock) of a website. IN THIS ECONOMY, LiLo was smart to use Window’s old wallpaper and leftover graphics from the Lunesta commercial.

via Jezebel

And here’s Colin Farrell demonstrating how you can easily use your hand as a privacy shield when giving a daytime beej out in public. And always make sure to unbutton your shirt down to your pube border so the money shot doesn’t get on your clothes. Thanks, Colin!

Colin showed us this useful technique while speaking to reporters at the Dubai International Film Festival yesterday afternoon. Since Colin so generously offered up his tips, I will save my comments about the tragic woolly bear massacre over his eyes for another day.

Blake Edwards, director, writer, producer and husband of Julie Andrews has floated up the moon river to heaven at the age of 88. Blake was surrounded by his wife and family when he died from complications of pneumonia at St. John’s Health Center in Santa Monica last night.

Blake’s publicist tells The Associated Press that he was hospitalized about two weeks ago. At the time of his death, Blake was working on a stage musical version of The Pink Panther.

Rest in peace, Blake and thanks for Victor/Victoria, S.O.B., 10, The Pink Panther, Revenge of the Pink Panther (don’t judge, Dyan Cannon is in it), The Great Race, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Long before Mad Mel Gibson was barfing out hateful words directed towards Jews in the back of a police car, he was barfing out hateful words directed towards Jews while getting drunk at Hollywood parties. This is what Winona Ryder tells GQ Magazine in a spastic interview that sort of made my brain feel like it was tasered and then injected with liquefied ludes. But back to Winona’s Mel Gibson story. Winona says that she was one of the first to watch a tiny black Hitlerstache grow over Mel’s lip before her very eyes.

“I remember, like, fifteen years ago, I was at one of those big Hollywood parties. And he was really drunk. I was with my friend, who’s gay. He made a really horrible gay joke. And somehow it came up that I was Jewish. He said something about ‘oven dodgers,’ but I didn’t get it. I’d never heard that before. It was just this weird, weird moment. I was like, ‘He’s anti-Semitic and he’s homophobic.’ No one believed me!”

Why doesn’t anybody ever believe Winona?! Just like the time nobody believed her when said that Edward Scissorhands is as gentle as a kitten’s air kiss. Or just like the time nobody believed her when she said that she had no idea how that cashmere scarf ended up at the bottom of her bag. I believe her and the world would be a much better place if WE ALL believe her from now on.

And “oven dodgers”, really? Ugh. It’s a good thing that when I Google that horrific shit all I get is a picture of a delicious L.A. Dodgers cookie.

A dark cloud blew into the dusty ashglobe in my chest yesterday when it was reported that Aretha Franklin is down and out with a life-threatening disease. Some say that the disease is cancer, and others specifically said it’s incurable pancreatic cancer. Aretha’s publicist has Super Glued his lips shut about this topic and has yet to release any kind of statement about her condition or what’s keeping her laid up in a hospital bed. But Aretha’s cousin (It’s always the cousin!) Brenda Corbett tells the Detroit Free Press (via AP) that the Queen will be back to hollerin’ her wig off on stage in the late spring or early summer.

Cousin Brenda put it like this: “Aretha is doing better than doctors expected. She has a long life in front of her and will be back in concert, on stage, late spring or early summer. This girl is doing great, and they (The National Enquirer) need to stop it.”

Aretha’s sister-in-law Earline wouldn’t even put the tip of her finger on The National Enquirer story, but she did say this: “Aretha is doing absolutely wonderful. All the prayers and well wishes have supported her, and she’s doing well.” BUT another one of Aretha’s relatives who wished to remain nameless confirmed The National Enquirer story and said it is pancreatic cancer.

Why do we all have that one “I wish to remain nameless” relative in our family? You know that bitch. That one family member who whispers like it was their major in community college. They’re always huddled in the corner with your auntie talking shush-like. When their eyes catch your eyes staring at them, they straighten up and switch gears. When you ask them what they were talking about, they look you in the eyelashes and say some shit like, “Just talking about how the El Pollo Loco rice is soggy.” And you’re thinking to yourself, “I know who’s getting a 98 cent gift certificate to the 99 Cent Store this Christmas!”

And just for the record, Cousin Kelly, I wasn’t lying about the El Pollo Loco rice being soggy! It really was!

And I thought watching a video of a (have a bottle of Clorox’s memory wash or a priest to perform an exorcism handy before clicking) singing bloody vagina dentata was the only thing that could make my brain burp out “QUE?” this morning, but I was wrong. Tommy Lee must be spending his early morning hours searching for sucio shit like solo whale porn, because he’s seen what’s going down at Sea World and it’s got him feeling all kinds of disgusted. Almost as disgusted as the times his memory does him wrong by flashing pictures of him slurping on Kimbo Stewart’s taint.

TMZ got a hold of a letter Tommy Lee stroked and unloaded all over the executives at Sea World. Acting on behalf of Peta, Tommy told Sea World that he thinks it’s sick how they use their serial killer whale Tilikum for jizz. Tommy had to take a Silkwood Shower after seeing footage of trainers milk the whale sperm out with a cow’s vagina. Um. Isn’t that how Tommy masturbates too? I’ll Google that. In the meantime, here’s the letter:

This is why the cow jumped over the moon. To get the fuck away from whale dick! No, there’s no need to cover up Bessy’s eyes, because by “cow vagina” Tommy means lady whale snatch. But is Tommy trying to give Tilikum a serious case of whale blue balls? Yes, Tilikum can spit when he gives himself auto-fellatio, but he prefers a lady whale snatch. Jizzus!

But seriously, how long before the makes of the Fleshlight come out with a version for whales?