by Paul Sorrenti
Lindsay Lohan’s tether has finally snapped and – thank almighty Christ – this time we aren’t talking about the tether which futilely battles each day to keep her knickers together.
This is largely because hecklerspray, essentially, is a ‘news’ source; something which reports events that have at least a hint of ‘new’ about them; if we were talking about that particular tether ‘finally’ snapping you could get us on the Trades Description Act.
Nope, this time the tether of Lindsay’s to which we refer is the one which has hitherto held the explosive rage she feels toward her father far back in the constraints of her mind, for she is proper fed up with him chatting shit about her to the press, and has told The Billy Bush Show all about it. Lindsay said:
I wish my dad would stop talking about me in public. It is so obvious he’s just jealous, you know? He sees my tits and thinks ‘I wish I had them for myself’ – I’m like pretty sure Freud alludes to it in his writings on the Oedipus complex.
No, of course she didn’t, what she actually said was this:
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by hecklerspray staff
It’s a predicament we’ve all faced, really.
You bring a newly-cremated loved one home and open up the urn, only to have some of the ashes spew onto the table. Dang it all. Now you have to go to the trouble of carefully sweeping the ashy vestiges of your great granny back in there using your pinky. Unless you’re Keith Richards. If you’re Keith Richards you daub up those ashes on your pinky and stick it up your nose hole and snort like you’ve never snorted before.
For reals this time, guys. This time he says he really did it for reals.
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