Just like everyone who is blessed to be chained to a computer all day at work, I saw the news flash over the internets that an unconscious Lindsay Lohan was rushed to a Los Angeles-area hospital and was on death's door and lived her life like a candle in the wind and bath salts and you get the picture. Just the mere mention of Lohan and unconscious set people frothing at the mouth and made Gawker, Huffington Post and the rest immediately report that she was near death, or something like it.
Of course boss-hoss TMZ shows up and bitch-slaps everyone with their own report that paramedics left after finding that she wasn't quite yet bound for heavenly glory. In fact, she's back on the set of her film Liz & Dick, which she is lensing for the Lifetime Network.
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I have never seen so many people wanting a fellow human to eat it and die, since at least Justin Bieber or Pastor Fred Phelps began to rear their heads in pop culture. What's worse is that with Lohan it's totally expected. Like if she died, no one would go, "Gone too soon," they would mutter that it was "about time" and keep playing Angry Birds.
Just last week, when word came that she had crashed her rented (LOL) Porsche into the back of a dump truck (bigger LOL), everyone was on needles and pins hoping that the steering wheel was lodged into her bountiful chest and she was bleeding to death.
Her reps told media outlets today that she was not hospitalized and that she is "exhausted" and "dehydrated," but "fine," which describes about every single last one of us in America on any given Monday morning.
Not today, God. Not today.