(*At a therapist’s office in West LA, Lindsay Lohan is seated in an armchair, wearing a white mini dress, chain smoking menthol cigarettes. Dr. Drew looks at her disapprovingly, as if he’s about to open his mouth, and then decides it’s probably best if he doesn’t. Both stare impatiently at a wall clock.*)
Lindsay: What the fuck, Dr. Drew? Did you tell me to show up at 1:30 even though the meeting didn’t start until 2:00 because I’m late for everything? That was a fucking dick move.
Dr. Drew: No, you self-important fuck. This meeting was actually supposed to start at 1:30, and God help me for doing this. I’ve been sick of you ever since you started crushing up your prescribed Adderall and snorting it on the set of the Parent Trap. I’m only doing this for the ratings and the court mandate.
Lindsay: (*Rolls eyes*) Whatever, I don’t know who this bitch thinks she is. Lindsay Lohan waits for no one. People wait for me, which would explain why I haven’t had a movie role in ages.
(*Amanda Bynes comes flying in the door, wearing a pair of leather pants, an ill-fitting bra, and a ridiculously large bag on her shoulder. Her hot mess blonde hair is all over the place. She throws herself onto a sofa and immediately takes a compact mirror out of her purse and begins making kissy faces at herself.*)
Dr. Drew: Amanda, do you have anything to say to us?
Amanda: Omg, what? What are you guys doing here? Do I look pretty? Did you call the paparazzi and tell them what time we’ll be done here so they can take pictures of me when I’m leaving? Here, take a picture of me so I can tweet it, will you? (*Hands iPhone to Dr. Drew, while attempting to remove bra*)
Lohan: Are you fucking kidding me?! You’re a half hour late, you look like shit, and you’re not even going to acknowledge me?!
Amanda: Lindsay, shut up. Stop yelling at me! Everyone always yells at me! Nobody understands me! I don’t even know why I’m here.
Dr. Drew: Amanda, you’re here because Lindsay is concerned about you and feels that you need a good talking to you. She hasn’t been happy with your recent behavior, and she asked that I mediate this session.
Lindsay: I can fucking take it from here, thanks. (*Lights another cigarette*) Listen, bitch, I’m sick of your bullshit. Everyone knows that I’m the perennial hot mess in Hollywood, and everything you’ve done has just been a less drastic version of what I’ve done. I understand imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but everyone’s over you by now.
Amanda: That’s not true! I’m an individual, a comedic actress. I’m nothing like you and I’m sick of people comparing us to one another!
Lindsay: Give it up, Bynes! Look at all the parallels! You started on Nickelodeon, the poor man’s version of the Disney Channel, where I got my start. You made a few comedies geared toward young girls, and so did I. Again, Mean Girls is FAR superior to Sydney White, so I’ve trumped you again. Now you’re getting DUIs and doing drugs in public. Showing up at the gym and smoking a joint in the shower? Please. Who the fuck gets kicked out of a soul cycle class? When I get kicked out of an establishment, it’s somewhere like the Chateau Marmont, but I’m sure they wouldn’t have let you in to begin with. Do you know what everyone says about you? They say that you’re a washed up, D-list child star who’s a less hot (mess) version of ME.
Amanda: You can’t just misquote Mean Girls and expect me to be offended. You don’t get it Lindsay, everyone is out to get me. I’m a serious actress, and I also plan on having a serious music career. You’re just a psycho coke head who dated Justin Bieber
Lindsay: HIS NAME IS SAM RONSEN AND IT’S NOT HIS FAULT HE DIDN’T HAVE A PENIS!
Amanda: Either way, shouldn’t you be leaving for rehab soon?
Lindsay: At least I’m going. Take a fucking look at yourself. You tried to bleach your own hair and now you just look like you got a discount weave at Queen Latifah’s beauty shop! And your cheek piercings — it looks like your cheeks were so chubby to begin with because you’d been busy storing diamonds in them like a fucking chipmunk, planning to burrow in the Sierra Leone for winter. You’re a fucking mess.
Amanda: You’re just jealous because I’m getting quite the following on Twitter.
Lindsay: At least Drake offered to murder my vagina.
(*The two leap at each other and proceed to start slapping each other, wrestling, and pulling each other’s hair. Dr. Drew spectates from his chair, and becomes strangely aroused.*)
Dr. Drew: Take her bra off, Lindsay! I mean, girls, girls, calm down, stop that. Don’t make me break you two up.
(*Dr. Drew makes no effort to break them up, because he can’t stand up at the moment.*)
(*Lindsay goes for the knockout punch and leaves Bynes unconscious on the floor. She then begins to rifle through Amanda’s purse, removing a few bottles of pills and a flask. She also opens a sunglasses case and pulls out a bag of weed.*)
Lindsay: Dumb fucking bitch. Everyone knows the sunglasses case is the first place they look.
(*Lohan then removes the large necklace from around Bynes’ neck, and opens up the oversized heart-shaped locket on the chain, only to reveal Bynes’ coke stash.*)
Lindsay (cont.): What a dumbass. I remember the first time I saw Cruel Intentions, too. Oh, one more thing. (*Picks up Bynes’ cell phone. Posts a picture of a passed out, disheveled Bynes to Twitter. #knockedout #rockbottom #lindsaywins*)
Lindsay (cont.): Suck it, Bynes.
- Image via Associated Press