Lindsay Lohan Is A Free Woman

“Free” as in “Nobody is going to tell me who to love or that I can’t wear my sweet Crystal Gayle shirt all over town!” Not “free” in the sense that she’s tackled her demons and laid them to rest. This is Blohan we’re dishing about, not Oprah. Anyhoo, she’s ditched Riley Giles, the scrub she met in rehab and proceeded to have some ill na na action in between group therapy and sneaking out to buy beer has been tossed to the curb like the dignity of any member of the Pussycat Dolls because he couldn’t keep his lower lip from drooping to the floor:

“It was fine when they were in Utah, just the two of them. But then they returned to L.A. and Lindsay was shooting a movie, photographers followed them everyone, she had meetings with this agent, that publicist, this director. His ego couldn’t take it.” “They thought he was unsophisticated and told her she should have left him in Utah with his snowboard. He never paid. Yeah, we know Lindsay is the rich and famous one, but come on. Be the man once in a while!”

You know, I almost feel a bit sorry for this guy. Unless he does something spectacular, like save an endangered panda from a burning building or inventing some sort of new magic illusions that makes Criss Angel look like Gob from Arrested Development, this is where the Riley Giles Fame Train pulls into the station and makes its final pathetic stop. Now he will forever be known as the guy who banged a not even in her prime redhead stage but as a wasted peroxide vixen Lindsay Lohan in a toilet stall in Utah.