Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Lindsay Lohan to Open Her Own Rehab Center

In a move that surprised everyone including her own PR team, Lindsay Lohan announced Wednesday that she will be leaving the residential treatment facility where she has been seriously addressing her addiction to drugs and alcohol for nearly two days, to open her own rehabilitation center in the Malibu County.

On September 19th, Lindsay Lohan was sentenced to thirty days in jail for failing a second probation-mandated drug test, a consequence of the multiple DUIs she was convicted of during the summer of 2007. In what turned out to be the shortest month in history, Lohan was released just 14 hours later when she posted the necessary $300,000 bail. Just a few short days later, she checked herself into rehab once again with the hopes it will preempt any jail time that might be coming her way when she returns to court on October 22nd. 

While many have questioned both Lohan's motives and her sincere willingness to work on her addiction issues, no one has ever questioned her being kind of a nut job. This recent move, whether it be a PR ploy or a genuine step towards recovery, will do nothing to hinder that reputation. In an exclusive Hollywood Underground interview, Lohan revealed the origins and the details of this profound, new direction in her life.

"I've been to rehab like five times now," the 24 year-old former child fashion model began, "and one thing I know for sure is that it's totally boring. Can I have side of snooze with my twelve steps? It's the same thing every day - groups, meetings, therapy, groups, meetings, therapy. Drugs are a symptom. Why are you hurting? Blah, blah, blah. I mean, hello - why do you think we get high in the first place? Is talking about all that crap really going to help us stay sober? I don't think so."

Asked how her rehabilitation center will be different than the ones she has been to, Lohan replied, "Well, I want it to be fun. I want people to look forward to rehab, even if they've been there before. So I've been thinking about the most funnest places I've ever been to and I've decided to call my treatment facility Rehabland. But I'm thinking Goofy might be a better front man. Ha, ha. Just kidding," Lohan concluded with a confusing wink. 

Asked what her treatment philosophy on addiction will be, a contemplative Lohan paused, "I've put a lot of thought into that, and I also did quite a bit of reading during my 85 minute stint in jail back in '07. What I've decided is to employ the very contemporary No Harm Reduction method. It's the latest in treatment, even though a Greek philosopher named Hippocrates came up with it centuries ago. Doctors swear by it,  so I figure it must be pretty good." 

"Basically," Lohan continued when asked for details, "In my version of No Harm Reduction, people get to choose the drug or type of alcohol that causes them the least amount of problems and continue using it. Like if you've been arrested for heroin but not crack, then you can still use crack while you're in Rehabland. If beer doesn't cause you as much grief as wine, then quit wining. And quit whining, if you know what I mean. Ha, ha. Just kidding. Doesn't that already sound better than regular rehab?"

When asked what else Rehabland will offer its clients that they might not receive in more traditional in-patient facilities, Lohan became bubbly, even a little manic. "Tons of stuff," she blurted, "You're not going to believe it. We'll still have group counseling, but it will be more like small parties designed to get people out of the narrow, self-imposed prison of their personal drug addiction by encouraging them to branch out and try other drugs. My philosophy is if you spread out your affinity for drugs and you don't do anything more than three days in a row, then it's not addiction. Oh, and I'm also going to have amusement park rides that mimic people's drugs of choice - that way they can still enjoy the feeling of their addiction while complying with the strict No Harm Reduction philosophy."

When pressed for examples, a briefly serious Lohan said, "The rides will replicate exactly the release of neurotransmitters that occur in our brains during our addictive drug use. If you're into weed, then you get to ride on Spaced Mountain, which is a really slow moving roller coaster that stops every few seconds for snacks or pseudo-epiphanies. Or, if you're into heroin, then you can ride The Doesn't Matter Horn, which uses oxygen deprivation to give you that sense of near death and not caring about anything. Meth Heads get to bungee jump into messy living rooms, while Cocaine lovers get to watch soccer highlights on an HD Jumbotron, but only the ones where they almost score."

"I don't get it," interrupted HU's reporter.

"If you were into cocaine and soccer, you totally would. Trust me. Anyway, I could go on and on, but I want to leave some surprises for our clients. We have something for everyone." 

Lohan, due to appear back in court for sentencing on October 22nd, plans to have RehabLand up and running in less than two weeks. "I just know the judge will love what I've put together. How could she not? I'm proof that this stuff works," Lohan said proudly, polishing off her sixth shot (instead of beer) and returning to her DVR-ed 2006 World Cup Final.

Lindsay says, "Get in on the ground floor and become a follower of the hottest new entertainment blog on the Net." Leave comments, feedback, and suggestions about Rehabland here...

How It All Began...

My fellow Americans,

I am writing to you today from a secret location in my mother-in-law's barn. That's right, somebody actually married me. It is with a heavy heart that I share the horrific events that have transpired since last I blogged nearly ten days ago. In the interest of maintaining interest, I will try to be brief, sparing you of the traumatic details that will forever be etched upon the fabric of my being. Suffice it to say that I am now a fugitive of the American government and its people. If they find me, they will surely take me back to that place - that horrible, horrible place...

On September 16th of this year, as I lazily nibbled on an extra-thick shelled Klondike bar and checked the scores of my fantasy baseball playoff match-ups, I happened to notice that Google's top-searched story of the evening was America's Got Talent crowning their fifth season's winner - a dashing, young singer from Mississippi named Michael Grimm. I surfed around, did some reading about the finalists, finished my ice cream, drafted a shortstop to replace the injured Hanley Ramirez, and decided on a whim to write a comical piece claiming that Michael Grimm had made up his entire back story to pull at the heartstrings of American voters. 

Those were the last normal moments I remember. 

On the morning of September 17th, I logged onto my wife's laptop to check the stats of my blog and my replacement shortstop. Alex Gonzalez had gone three for four with a double and two RBIs, and my blog had gone for...Holy Shit! 2,200 hits? This must be mistake, I thought. Seven comments? No one comments on my blog. I've been writing about his granddaughter for over ten months and I don't think my dad even reads it. I hit refresh - 2,208. What the f--- is going on? 

I spent the rest of the day watching - no, marveling - at the number of page views and editorials my fabricated story receiving. While a very small percentage of readers found the humor in my writing, the cynicism with which it was intended, their comments were far outnumbered by the onslaught of cyber-hate-mail that ensued. People were angry, indignant, threatening both litigation and karmic retribution. For a fleeting moment I felt worried and guilty, but then I decided that anyone who believed that Grimm really sang "When a Man Loves a Woman Who's House Got Flooded By a Natural Disaster and Who Doesn't Have Any Insurance at All," is too stupid to know anything about defamation lawsuits. 

How wrong I turned out to be...

That evening, about 4,500 page views and 23 angry comments later, I felt compelled to write a follow-up story. I needed to clear the air and give Michael Grimm his good name back, but more importantly I needed a fall guy. Very little research later, I stumbled upon Michael Evancho, the talented opera-singing runner-up's father. Turns out, according to my complete lack of sources, Mr. Evancho was the one who had originally leaked the fake story about Michael Grimm to the press. And by press, I mean a stay-at-home daddy blogger from the boonies of northern California. And by story I mean one hundred percent fiction. 

Needless to say, more page views, more hate mail, and more litigious threats ensued. I couldn't believe what I was reading. Is there no room left for comedy in this world? And what exactly did these people think I was going to get sued for? Violating our protected freedom of SPEACH claimed one reader, and if she weren't equally protected by the freedom to misspell I could totally counter-sue. By sundown that day, I was comfortably convinced that these people, with names like daradoodle, feldwoja, and raaketa, didn't have a clue what they were talking about. 

That, dear readers, was the last thought that crossed my mind before my front door was kicked in. I barely had time to put my wife's laptop on stand by, turn off Sports Center, and fold up the blanket I like to use on cold, autumn nights, before I was drugged, handcuffed, and escorted to an unmarked car idling in my driveway. The last thing I saw as I drifted from consciousness were the letters R.O.N.S., but that's all I could make out.

The next few days were a blur. My first memory is being interrogated by two women named Pat and Lisa who wanted to know where the hell I got my information about Michael Grimm and why on earth I thought it was funny to satirize reality television and American culture. When I couldn't give them a satisfactory explanation, they sent me to an internment camp where they house people who dare insult the intelligence of the average American television viewers and Internet users.

The frightening reality is that these camps exist all over the country, with new ones being built all the time. It was there that I met others like myself - countless "retired" writers from The Onion, Vance Degeneres and Lewis Black from "The Daily Show," and Billy Mays who isn't dead at all, and who still clings to the hope that he will one day be pardoned when the camp's warden realizes he actually believes in Mighty Putty.

Days inside the camp were spent being reprogrammed with shock treatments, group therapy and repetitive workshops on things like literal humor. "What are you up to?" the counselors would ask us, and if we didn't say something like, "About two hundred pounds," or "Five foot seven," we were forced to watch episodes of "Mama's Family" and "My Two Dads" until we obliged. Sarcasm was greeted with caning while anything less than a truthful joke was punishable by up to a week in a padded cell wall-papered with Family Circus sketches. By week's end, I looked as defeated as the rest of them.

With every ounce of determination we could muster, we managed to craft a Billy Mays inspired escape plan. First we used the infamous Dual Saw to cut through the metal bars to our cells. Once we were in the common area we converted an AM radio into a cell phone with the Jupiter Jack and called for a taxi. Rather than navigate the labyrinth and swim across the moat to freedom, we used the Awesome Auger to chop right through the hedges before soaking up the entire moat with a dozen or so Zorbeez. Finally, once were were safely on the other side, we whipped out the Grater Plater to make some awesome quesadillas before bidding farewell and going our separate ways.

Two days later I managed to secure this secret location where I am writing to you from now. This will be the second to last time I write to you from this URL. I now know what those letters on the unmarked car stood for and I vow never to be captured again by the Middle-American Organization of Radicals Opposed to Naughty Sarcasm (M.O.R.O.N.S).

As a result I have created this new, safer blog location from which to communicate. I vow to forever continue the good fight of comedy in all forms and the American way. I vow, dear readers, to create without fear of retribution, to lie without concern for litigation, and to point fingers without giving a shit about the three pointing back at me. My motto is, "If it ain't made up, it ain't worth writing."

God bless America and god bless you all.