It was weird, I won’t deny that. But looking back on it, I’m sure I made the right decision. I was traveling West out of Hollywood , having spent 3 weeks there doing PR work for Cobie Bryant. He was in need of some good rep, and still had a sizable income. I figured ‘what the fuck, how could I make him look any worse?’. But I tried. I really did. I used every public smear campaign tactic I knew and could think of, but no matter how bad it got, every one I talked to said the same thing: “You think that’s bad, let me tell you a story…” Even when I pulled out the bestiality and sodomy stories, no one flinched. So I was feeling kind of defeated and deflated as I drove out of town in my loaner BMW Z3 (I have very powerful friends). The sun was setting, and I had just finished off the last of my bottle of Remy Martin, I hate the shit, but hanging around that chicken necked son of a bitch for so long I almost began acquiring a taste for it. Besides, he gave me 16 bottles of the shit to keep my mouth quiet about what he did to me. Not that it mattered.
I pulled over to a bar in some town, which town it was, I have no idea. I was too tired to pay attention and was just kind of ambling back out East to offer victims of Hurricane Katrina my business card in case they ever made it into the big time. It was your typical kind of road house joint: Go go dancer on a pole, while not being a strip club, 2 kinds of beer on tap, only cans of beer, no bottles, and 3 different kinds of whiskey. My kind of place… or at least it used to be back before I made it big. I grabbed 3 beers and two warm shots of the cheapest whiskey they had (the 3 whiskeys I had to pick from were cheap, cheaper, and cheapest) and grabbed a table near the go go dancer.
She was dancing to some weird hippy crap that was playing on the Juke box. It sounded like the kind of shit the Manson Family put out that one time on Time life records or whatever. She wasn’t a pro, and probably wasn’t even an employee, judging by how she had her beer bottle next to the pole. But she was foxy, and I was indifferent.
The song ended and she half slithered, half stumbled off of the stage and almost collided with the table next to me. “Excuse me” she slurred out. “Hey, don’t I know you?” I looked at her. “You might. You ever do any work involving water sports?” “Yes, I have… but that’s not it.” “Come to think of it, you look kind of familiar as well,” I told her. All women look the same when you’re looking at them through an empty shot glass over each eye. She must have figured that’s what I meant, because she coyly laughed at me, and said “I’ll be back in a second, hun, don’t go no were.”
She returned about 10 minutes later with toilet paper hanging out from underneath her skirt, and two drinks in tall glasses. One pastel pink, and one pastel blue. Both had a slice of orange stuck on the rim. “Blue one for the boy” she then giggled. I downed it… it was horrible. Like licking a urinal cake, and I’ve liked plenty. I puked a mouthful of it up, and she giggled at me. “Puke’s not supposed to be that color,” she said. “Anyway, my name is Lindsay.”
I peered through the smokey haze that filled the bar. “Holy shit… You’re Lindsay Lohan. What the fuck are you doing in a place like this?” “Well, it’s where I come to unwind… No one recognizes me here. Yeah. The pole’s got a heater in it, and the people make for good inspiration for my new album I’m working on. It’s kind of this urban pop kind of thing.”“That sounds horrible. You should stick to acting”“Yeah… that and it’s the only bar in 36 square miles that’ll still let me through the door.”
“Bonus. Hey, you should really listen to me. Stick to acting in children’s crap TV shows or whatever it is you did before. People pay me very good money to hear what I think about them, and I’m telling you for free. Don’t blow this one kiddo.”
“But I really like making music… it’s where I feel my calling is. That and like helping out kids who are less fortunate than me. You know, like kids who went to public schools.”
“Yeah, that’s great. Listen honey. You seem like a really nice girl, I mean, besides the fact that you’re a stuck up air headed self centered spoiled rich brat socialite who’s got her head so completely far up her proverbial ass that it’s insulting… you know, besides all that, you seem like you may one day become a decent human being, though I really seriously doubt all that. Anyway, listen kiddo, you’re a real looker. You think of going into the prostitution racket?
“Nah, I could never charge someone for fucking me… I’m fucking horrible at it. In fact, on many occasion, I’ve been forced at gun point to pay men for having to go through such an awful experience.”
“Hm… Well shit, baby, I don’t know what to tell you. But you need to kind of drop off the radar for a while. You know, lie low until people forget you ever existed in the first place. Come back with a different name, a different face. No I mean, have facial reconstruction surgeries. Shit, you may even want to consider a sex change. But you’re done for in this town, and every body knows it but you.”“But I really like the scenery.”“Yeah… me and you both sister.”
“Besides, if I left, and didn’t tell my daddy, how would he know where to send the monthly checks and a new car every time I wreck one?”
I looked at her sternly “Those monthly checks, that’s hush money, isn’t it? He calls it an allowance, but it’s he’s really buying your silence, isn’t he? Don’t you fucking lie to me, or I’ll spray so much fucking tan in a bottle in your face that you’ll look like a god damned orange tootsie pop with 2 mosquito bites!”
A tear ran down her cheek, and she looked at the ground. She whispered… “How did you know?”
I pounded my fist on the table so hard all the bottles fell off. But I caught one before it hit the floor… luckily it was only ½ empty. I said “That’s it! I’m taking you from this awful town! You need to see Wisconsin . We’ll stop in Chicago first and I’ll fatten you up on chili dogs and Budweiser.”“Fatten me up?!” She exploded up out of her chair and ripped off her shirt. “The hell you will you sick old man! I’ve had 16 surgeries to look this flawlessly and effortlessly good. Fuck you!”“Calm down” I hushed her: “Shhhh-sh-sh-shhh… it’s ok… I was only joking about the hot dogs and beer… kind of. You can go throw them up as soon as you eat them. It’s ok. What’s important is that I whisk you away from this fucking hell hole of a town. Baby, I’ll produce your new album. I’ve got all the shit you need to record a in my buddies garage. It’s even got a mini fridge in there so you can keep your cheese cake cold. Yeah, you’ll love it. Trust me, babe.”
She looked at me side long for a moment, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and took my cigarette from my hand. She said “You know, sometimes I’d like to do something crazy. Like take this cigarette and jab it in my ear. Do you think that would hurt?”
“Immensely. Trust me, I know all about self inflicted cigarette burns. They’re a nasty thing and always lead to infection. Take my word for it, you’d rather not.”
“You know, all the tabloids call me LiLo… I hate that. My first boy friend called me a bitch once. I stabbed him, you know. Right in the neck. My dad paid his parents not to press charges. Isn’t that fucked up? I mean, I’m crazy, right? Aren’t I like absolutely crazy?””Hardly. You did the right thing, though. But that reminds me, I heard a rumor once that you bit the head off a man’s penis. Is that true?”
She finished of her 4th or 5th pastel pink beverage. At this point I was so drunk, she actually seemed like an attractive person. Intellectually, I mean. Physically, I had a hard on the size of a toddlers arm, but for the first time since I was cursed with knowing about the existance of this dimwitted spoiled and underfed freak show, she was beginning to seem like a half way decent human being. I was beginning to think that perhaps she was just terribly misunderstood. Could it possibly be?
She looked at the burning end of my cigarette that she was still holding. I lit another, realizing that that one was a lost cause.
“Yes,” she said at last, “Yes, it’s true. Two times actually. The first guy grabbed me by the ears, said something about ‘monkey cupping’ me. I hate it when men touch my ears. So I went *Chomp!*, and spit it out, right in the fuckers face!” She laughed hysterically.”Oh my god!””Yeah, the second time, the guy accidentally called me ‘Britney’. So I asked him ‘what the fuck did you call me?’ And he goes ‘Oh, sorry…’ So I went *Chomp!* And this time I swallowed it.”
“Jesus!” Under my breath I mumbeled “You’re my kind of girl…” Then: “Really babe, maybe it’s just the Schlitz talking, but I really think I’d be good for you. C’mon. Why don’t you let me take you back to the mid-west. You’ll hate it there at first, people don’t like your kind in those parts. But it’ll be good for you… and good for the world. You really need to shrink from public view. Just kind of disappear for a while… a very long while. Like, a forever while. What do you say?”
“Gee, you know, that sounds neat-oh and all, but I don’t even know you. I mean, we just hardly met.”
“We’ve been talking for half an hour. You’ve done far worse with men you’ve known for one tenth that amount of time. I’m serious. If you don’t come with me on your own, I’m going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk of my borrowed car. I’ll do it to… Jesus told me to.”
She let out a big sigh then. She leaned forward and kind of hung her head and let her shoulders sag in defeat.
“All right. If Jesus said so, I’ll go with you.”I nodded. “Good… good.”
“Bartender,” I hollered, “4 more of those pink beverages and make it snappy! I have many well known friends, and if they knew I was waiting on you instead of sending them text messages, they’d be unhappy… I don’t want that to happen. So hurry the fuck up!” I looked back the girl at my table. “You wait for those, I’m going to go piss.”
She simply hung her head and nodded in agreement.
I returned from the mens room and ordered a case of warm Schlitz to go, and put the odd pink concoctions into empty coffee cups that I found in the trash can, and headed back to the table to collect my prize.
The bartender said “What about your tab? Between the two of you, you owe me $197!”
I grabbed her purse and hurled it at the bar. I said “There, you run run one of the many fucking platinum cards in her daddy’s name while I go put her in the car.”
I grabbed the beer and the coffee cups and went and kicked her chair.
“Put your arm around me and make like you’re wasted.””I am wasted.””Good… you’ll need to be. It’s a very long drive to Ohio.”
With that she kind of passed out on the way out the door. I tossed her in the passenger seat with the coffee cups and threw the Schlitz on her lap. I was spitting gravel for a good 25 feet as I tore out of there.
She woke up somewhere near Nebraska. We stopped for coffee and grilled ham and cheese sandwiches at a small diner. The plan was simple: We go to Ohio, and get a small apartment. From there, I could take care of my business in private, and she could sober up. I told her I knew a good nose and cheek guy in Wyoming, we’d hit him up once the dust settled. She agreed not to go public ever again, for any reason and to completely drop of off the face of the earth for all intents and purposes, as long as I agreed to never, ever mention the name Britney Spears.
“All “reports” made by Nick Fit are completely fabricated, even those that are 100% true. Nick Fit may or may not even be an actual living breathing human being. He also may or may not actually spend much of his time in Hollywood when he’s not locked away in his vault passing the hours surfing the internet wearing nothing but his bathrobe and soiled boxers while consuming mass quantities of Schlitz. And while the credibility and reality of his Hollywood “contacts” and “sources” can be and have been argued, none of that is important. Even though Nick Fit is a representative of Hey Stupid who is well paid in the form of cheap beer for his articles and opinions, his opinions don’t necessarily represent those of Hey Stupid; except in the cases where they do unnecessarily represent sometimes necessary representation of our opinions. In other words we have no fucking money and it isn’t worth your time suing us because we wouldn’t pay anyway.”