Lindsay Lohan. The girl interrupted, the girl with the restraining anklet, the girl still in rehab trying to get her life back together was finally consumed and eaten by the Walking Dead this afternoon.
Dina and Michael Lohan, supposedly Lindsay's parents, both dead from the neck up, incessant media whores at the visible expense of their daughter continue to ply their trade, which is nothing more than professing feigned love for their cash and fame machine, in front of whatever camera will agree to film them.
They appear regularly on the OprahViewSpringer Show, hell bent on screwing up whatever shred of a family still exists, while hoping to pull everything together for the next (hold my hair while I puke), family reality series. Not that they will admit, but you and I already know that Dina and Mike regularly watch the Kardashians and constantly ring up the networks with a sales pitch that says "Hey, we're more screwed up that they are!"
Indeed. The bad images of a brain dead, plastic, cake face mother, and a hyped up on Red Bull and antihistamines father are enough to last the public for a lifetime. Please God. We beg you. Please go away and never darken our television screen doors again.
I propose a "Save Lindsay from her Family" telethon, perhaps side by side with Jerry Lewis each year. The goal? To collect enough money for Dina and Mike so that they never appear on any camera or interfere with their daughter again. In fact that's a stipulation for accepting their check each year. Never appear in the press or on camera again, ever. I've got $20 bucks to start the drive right here.