Lindsay Lohan - My Fake Diary
Friday, 9 July 2010
My spineless little lawyer decided to bolt on me after my 90 day sentence, as if there weren't any grounds for appeal. I mean, C'mon. Just because I didn't show up for court appearances, court appointed counseling sessions, and maybe had a drink or 5 when I was supposed to be under house arrest, I'm not hurting anybody.
You would think those bastard legal people would have real criminals to go after instead of picking on an "A" list, role model, beautiful celebrity like me.
And this place smells like a $50 prostitute's hot box, not that I'm saying I know what that might smell like. The clothes? You would think there would be fashion consultants here to pick out a proper color of jumpsuit for your skin tone and hair color, but this bright orange? I don't think so. I'm Lindsay Frickin Lohan. I want some Versace shit up in here before the end of the day, and none of that discounted, last year, clearance rack crap from TJ Maxxx.
At least this place is drug free. "What was that?", Wait a minute I have a visitor at my door. "$25? That's all? Then I'll take a triple hit. Thanks, Hey, remember this cell and don't be a stranger". Like I said, mostly drug free here in prison.
It seems like the girls like me here, at least. Since I refuse to wear that stupid orange jumpsuit and I'm comfortable in my underwear anyway, lots of girls seem to want to be my friend. One approached me at breakfast, if you could call it that, and said that I looked like a "Lickable girl". I'm sure she just meant likeable.
Well diary, gotta go. I need to paint some more "Fv*k U" messages on the rest of my fingernails, so that I'll really fit in here. Oh! I almost forgot, I'm supposed to get a prison tattoo this afternoon from my new friend Bertha. She wants to practice tattooing ner name on real skin, though she wants it just above my coochie. Hopefully that doesn't really mean anything, like permanent. She keeps calling me her girlfriend. Clearly I can make friends anywhere.
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