One of the horrid little lohans has checked into rehab. Linsey.
What the heck do I care about some little washed-up, talentless tart that popps pills, snorts powder, and guzzles booze?
I don't. I could care less than when BritSprear died in that plane crash. What, she didn't? Oh well, there's always tomorrow.
Why do these little monsters hand on
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