Disclaimer: This is me at my bitchiest!! But in my defence, this girl has annoyed me for so damned long and this is the straw that broke my back!!
So, it has just been revealed that Lindsay Lohan, that beacon of hope and charity in a world spiralling into decay, has been commissioned to front a BBC3 documentary (Blakeaway Productions) exposing child sweat shops and prostitution in India.
Oh, come on.
Let's be realistic here. Lindsay, who is best known for exposing herself to ridicule (not to mention exposing her nether-regions on more than one occasion) is now trying to recast herself as humanitarian and philanthropist?! I'd sooner believe that Russell Brand and Katy Perry are going to live a life of marital celibacy!
Lohan, listen up. I'm sick of this and I have to say, I'm a little sick of you. You've blown it. You were given a peach - childhood success, movie roles other actresses (myself included but definitely no sour grapes here!) would kill for and you buggered it right up. Rehab should have been made mandatory and permanent for you, my dear. For all of you who think I am being a little harsh, let me apologise. I mean no disrespect to 'Li-Lo' or her hoards of compatriots who insist on drowning themselves in booze and drugs, fling themselves out of clubs with underwear exposed then decide to play on the viewer's sympathy in an utterly transparent bid to win back loyalty and respect. But I come from a line of actresses who actually like to WORK. Who respect the system and how it's played and above all, who don't do it for the fame and celebrity but because they couldn't imagine a life without getting on that stage or in front of that camera to channel real emotion and reflect real life. I genuinely feel sorry for you - at the grand old age of 23 you've managed to screw it all up.
So please, go to India, try to squeeze out the requisite tears as you face some of the most incredible poverty in the world. Perhaps before you go you can follow in the venerable footsteps of fellow headline-grabbers and snag yourself a bouncing baby all of your own. By all means, visit child sweat shops (which, by all accounts is like sending an alcoholic to a brewery).
Just pick up a quick knock-off Fendi on your way through, and don't expect me to be watching.