Day 8, 11:35am An inmate told me yesterday there are going to be “Free Lindsay” rallies in L.A. and NYC today! That’s the best news I’ve gotten since I’ve been here! Think of all that news coverage, screaming and shouting fans on my behalf, and I won’t even be there! The police will be called for crowd control, and they’ll realize a bunch of my fans are much more dangerous than I am when I’m behind the wheel! And you know, since cops talk to each other, they might even call the warden and tell him to let me out because I’ve been on such good behavior and I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me and that it’s complete bullshit that I’m in here. Free me is right! My fans will be peacefully protesting my release, like Nelson Mandela!
Day 7, 11:35am Okay, this jail is seriously getting older even faster than my talent is. I’m a movie star, I’m not diddling the little boys who live across the street from me. I make movies.The directors can be really mean and the hair and makeup people don’t always listen to me when I tell the how I want them to do my hair sometimes, so what if I go out and have a few drinks and make sailor’s hats out of newspapers after people are done tugging on me and telling me where to stand for 20+ hours? It helps me relieve stress. I seriously don’t understand how that’s a crime. If it IS a crime, how come other people get to do it? What have I done so terrrrrribly wrong, besides drive a car when I’d been drinking a few times? I really don’t understand. Tiger Woods shmushed with more than 14 women and he didn’t get sent to jail! Plenty of people do bad things and never go to jail. Why do I have to be the person they make an example out of? My mother had a few similar driving incidences, but she got out of it alright, and you don’t see everyone jumping down her throat when guys half her age are encouraging her to down vodka and tonic after vodka and tonic. Why would I want to do anything else? That’s the greatness I’m destined for!
Day 4, 9am You know what’s a weird animal? An octopus. They have eight arms. Or are they eight legs? What’s the difference? I mean, with arms, you use them to hold a credit card and cut coke and you use your legs to walk up to Tiger Woods and ask him what’s up. Those are two separate tasks, which means they’re different and not the same. But octopuses (or octopi?) have limbs that are all the same, which means they all do the same things. They don’t have a combination of arms and legs — they either have one or the other. But which? I wouldn’t care to hold one to find out. They’re squishy and would only be good for sucking up oil and keeping it in their oil pouches. Or is that squid? Squid aren’t nearly as weird as octopi. Someone also told me octopi have three hearts and beaks, like parrots! When a baby octopus is in school, what does he do when he has a question for the teacher? How long does it take for him to decide what he’s going to raise in the air? He must really have to think about it!
Day 3, 4pm Today my mom and sister came to visit me. They looked sad, but they shouldn’t be. Jail isn’t as bad as those teacup rides that look like fun and you only ride because you’re tripping balls.The cockroaches are bad though, because they’re free to come and go as they please. They remind me of my permanence here. I’ve tried making friends with them so they’ll take me down their little tunnels and share the cheese they find from random corners of the cafeteria, but they’re greedy little bastards and afraid of humans. If they knew they were in my cell, do you think they’d be impressed? Surely they’ve been in a room where Herbie Fully Loaded was playing. I feel like insects would like that movie. That or Freaky Friday. If not for my solo at the end, then for Jamie Lee Curtis. Everybody likes her.
Day 2, 2pm The next photo shoot I do I’m going to insist on wearing chains, like on my wrists and across my chest. They’re so sexy and I look really good with them. I think i’m going to start buying bikinis that have chains on them. They’ll be uniqely (sic) me. my thing. I know I’ll design a pair of leggings with chains on them — I already have the sketch hidden under the mattress in my cell because I know Alexis will steal it. I’m wondering if they should be crotchless. The leggings, not Alexis. I think everything should be crotchless. Recently, I’ve been trying to think of all the things that can be crotchless. There are a lot, it turns out. Aside from pants, there can be crotchless saddles, crotchless dresses, crotchless pajamas! Even crotchless people. I mean if there are people with cleft palates like the kind I saw in India there should be crotchless people out there somewhere, right?
Day 1, 11am So this is real now. I have bruises on my wrists from where my cuffs were, and if I wasn’t going to be in jail, I’d go right over to Sam Ronson’s house and tell her she could make them worse if she’d take me back. I’m not in my cell yet — they’re getting my orange jumpsuit ready. I’m writing this with a pen that says “honor thyself,” which the warden gave to me after he made me sign my name and then rushed back to his office to put it on eBay or eat or something. They’ve taken my belt, my shoes, my jacket and my rings and I bet when I change into the jumpsuit the gards (sic) will take one look at my tattoos and then right after work, they’ll go get the exact same ones as me. They should pay me for my originality. They wouldn’t be able to get the “la bella vita” one because their lives aren’t beautiful, especially if they put me in jail for doing what I was supposed to and wearing the alcohol bracelet during photo shoots and paying for it to be photoshopped off my body. They’re going to want me to let them wash my underwear, take my unfinished apples away with my teethmarks in them so they can frame me for stuff I didn’t do, like miss my alcohol classes. I’m a worker, like everyone else. I have to work.
