I spent the morning opening and closing tabs on my web browser sifting through news stories for a topic to write about. Naturally, I went straight to my bread and butter, Lady Gaga. She has a new song and video and I was disappointed to see it wasn’t horrible. Then, I read up on the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, and was disappointed to find that is very horrible. Desperately searching for the Goldilocks Zone of horrible, I googled Lindsay Lohan: bingo. Her horrible is just right.
Elinore the Great (Coffee Retriever)Last week TMZ reported that Lindsay Lohan’s personal assistant resigned her position, claiming she was physically and emotionally exhausted, and had had enough of Lindsay’s demands.
First and foremost, what the fuck is Lindsay Lohan doing with a personal assistant? She hasn’t been in front of a movie camera in like three years. Does she need someone to carry around her massive duffel bag filled with Xanax, plastic gallon jugs of vodka, and binders of court orders? Lindsay Lohan doesn’t need a personal assistant, she needs a fucking sponsor.
Second, who does this "personal assistant" think she is? Sweetheart, you’re not "resigning" a "position." Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld resigned from the Bush Administration—you quit. Let’s be real here, you got drunk with Lindsay Lohan, had a threeway with her and a homeless guy, and ran her to In-N-Out Burger at 3am, stoned. That’s not a "position," it’s a gig, and a pretty sweet one at that. So before we get all Watergate with resigning positions, maybe you should invite yourself back to reality and embrace the fact that you quit a gig, and the only position you resigned is mouth-to-ass with coked out club flies.
If you go and take a gig with Lindsay Lohan, how does one anticipate that panning out? "Oh, working with Lindsay is great, we are up at 6am for a run, then yoga, then egg white and spinach omelets, then I get her over to NPR for an interview with Terry Gross. Of course, first I prep Lindsay on Darfur, the World Bank, and Keynesian economics on the way to the studio. Then, a late lunch with Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg to discuss an HBO docudrama about Guantanamo Bay."
I think it’s probably more, "Ugh, I’m so fucking high right now. Lindsay just bought an M16, a kilo of coke, and some grenades off this Columbian guy who calls himself The Gentleman, and there’s a dead kangaroo wearing boxing gloves in my truck and I have no idea how it got there. Where the fuck did we get a stainless steel Halliburton briefcase filled with deviled eggs?"
I refuse to believe anyone who has seen a TV in the past five years could anticipate any other series of events unfolding.
Keeping this in mind, Lindsay, if you are reading this, I am currently searching for new employment and would love to meet with you for an interview. I don’t mind carrying duffel bags.