I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that Lindsay Lohan is suing E-Trade 100 million dollars or the fact that Lindsay Lohan is suing E-Trade for 100 million dollars.

Yes, read that back. Doesn’t it sound like a villain in a movie should say that amount whilst snickering? Now realize that someone is ACTUALLY doing this, and then realize that the person doing this just also:

- ACTUALLY did a serious interview with someone whose first name is “Niecey”
- ACTUALLY had said interview about how she was a hoarder of things like “shoes, old cups of coffee”, etc.

Serious fucking journalism for a serious woman (sidenote: who is named Niecey? That’s meanspirited to call your child anything that could even be whittled down to this in a nickname).

So here’s the best part: she’s doing it because she feels that a superbowl ad that was run about a “milkaholic” baby who’s the other woman in a fake baby relationship was modeled after her. To which brings up the amazing part about this entire debacle.

To accuse someone a commercial about a BABY who drinks too much milk is about you is admitting that:

A) You think that you’re an alcoholic, even before a talking baby with a milk problem reminded you of this and

B) Someone showing a talking baby in a commercial who supposedly drinks too much milk REMINDS YOU OF YOURSELF.

Maybe you should work on things. Just in general, if this is the case.

It’s amazing to me that nowadays you can sue someone for something like this. FOR A HUNDRED BILLION TRILLION DOLLARS. This is the equivalent, in my opinion, to me watching a commercial during the superbowl saying that men can’t say I love you to women because really they actually just love their Miller Light more and then suing Miller Light because my parents got divorced and I’M SAD INSIDE AND CAN’T YOU SEE THIS WAS REALLY TOUGH AND MAYBE SOMETIMES I DON’T LIKE MAYONNAISE ON MY SANDWICH AND THIS IS YOUR 100 MILLION DOLLAR FAULT MILLER BREWING COMPANY.

Stop it. Maybe just drink less and/or stop being so goddamn sensitive about talking babies, which is a larger issue if this ACTUALLY reminds you of yourself. I don’t know what narnia you live in, but babies don’t have girlfriends who have drinking problems. You just have a drinking problem, and that is not a commercial, that is a “that’s your life”.

I’m beginning to wonder how it’s possible that I am not, in fact, gay.

Let me clarify this one, while also making blaring generalizations about people because then it’s easier to make silly haha jokes.

I was talking to my friend the other day, and actually made this joke:

“I should move to the Marina, and/or apply to law school and change my name to Elle.”

First of all, you’re right if you have your finger on your nose and are pointing at me: that’s not a funny joke. Second of all, what heterosexual male makes a joke that goes deep into the plotlines of the film Legally Blonde, knowing not only the lead character’s name but that the general plot consists of her trying to win back her boyfriend and/or prove to him that she can be as smart as he, even if she’s just a ‘dumb blonde’?

I then began to ponder other things about my behavior that are seriously questionable.

- I use the stairmaster at gym, and use it so frequently that I know the other ladies (men do not seem to use this machine) that use it frequently, by first name on many occasions. Think I’m joking? I commonly look for my friend Rachel here, because we both know that the stairmaster is “SOOO hard to get, I mean, doesn’t that bitch know that there is a 30 minute limit?” I also know Tara, who taught me how to turn from left to right so as to make sure my ass looks even better and i’m working the muscles from all angles. Wow.

- I have a hair dryer, I use it daily. When I told this to a girl, she asked, “Oh to use it on your junk?”, to which I responded, “no, sometimes I’m just running late and hate it when my hair is wet and I can’t put product in it.” (This statement to her presumably cemented the fact that I will never sleep with this woman, ever. Not even if I told her I had a 3 foot long penis, she will never once look at me as possible sexual partner again.)

- I own the film Bring it On. Honestly. I find it to be a really great film and in no way thought it was weird to buy it, even when the girl behind the counter looked at me with that pat-you-on-the-head “good for you, you’ll come out soon” look.

- I listened to the Indigo Girls a lot in middle school (red flag) and own almost all of Ani Difranco’s music (burning rainbow flag).

- I bought bliss spa face wash. I thought it smelled good, and in no way thought it was peculiar when the email I received after purchasing it said “Hey girl, spoil yourself!”, nor did I find it odd that when said package came to work, I hid in the stairwell to open the box and then hid the product in my bag before anyone could see. Couple of metaphors there, if you look closely, I’m not sure.

- For my birthday this year, my family bought me: a high priced vacuum cleaner, a popcorn maker (that I was UPSET I didn’t get for christmas), and a nice bottle of champagne that came in a purple velvet bag. To quote my Aunt: “This is starting to look like a girl’s bridal shower!” (…)

I also own seasons of Sex and the City that I don’t put out for public display in fear of people thinking that’s a little weird. By don’t put on public display, I mean I hide them in my closet (again: alarming metaphor). IT’S THE OTHER TEAM’S PLAYBOOK, THAT’S ALL.

Last Friday had to be like Black Friday for pot dealers when the movie Alice in Wonderland came out.

The box office gross of the movie for one weekend was $116,000,000. I’d imagine more than 115,999,990 of those dollars were spent by big fucking stoners. Because the movie didn’t look good; it looked STONED good. There is a huge difference. Movie makers, take notice: start making movies for stoners, no matter what. You know why? Because stoners will see anything that is terrible yet has three dimensional bunnies in it. This is a demographic that should not be ignored. Imagine some of the movies that could have made so much more money just by being more stoner friendly and/or chucking 3-D into the mix.

- The Tooth Fairy: Keep the plot entirely the same, just have the Rock fly out of the screen in a tutu and randomly turn to the screen and say, completely out of context, “can you smell what the rock is cookin’?” BOOM. Stoners see this in a preview and think, “haha TUTU haha WRESTLING haha ILOVEPOT haha I’DSEETHATSTONED.” I know, right?

- Anything with Brendan Fraser in it. This movie is probably terrible, yet if three-dimensional and had like, some explosions or a volcano in it, stoners would see it.

- Any chick flick that was kinda sexual and maybe had borderline sex scenes in it. 3-D sex/boobs? I just solved the “my boyfriend won’t see that” problem. You’re welcome, Hollywood.

- Anything with ninjas in it. You know what stoners love? Ninjas. You know why? Because they do cool shit. You know how they could do cooler shit? IN 3-D.

You know the only movie that wouldn’t be better in 3-D? Titanic. Fuck you James Cameron, we already paid you enough money for Fern Gully with guns. Stop being so damn greedy. I don’t care if you don’t think that’s funny, your oscar winning ex-wife does. BOOM. ROASTED.

Without further ado, here’s Rocket Shoes Mixtape 24: If You Think A Fake Baby With A Fake Drinking Problem Is You, You Need To Work On Yourself

Click here or the link up top to stream the whole mix.

As always you can download the entire thing in MP3′s right here

So here’s the thing: Lindsay Lohan is crazy. Batshit crazy. You know how I know this? Because we all know a crazy girl. Maybe you’ve dated one (it’s been years, but oh the memories), maybe she’s your sister, maybe you ARE the crazy girl and you kiiiinda know it but don’t like to admit it but your friends say this about you. Bottom line: everyone knows that girl, and Lindsay is certainly it right now (like how I called her Lindsay like we’re besties? I do). I also kind of find this to be unfair and feel bad (if that’s possible) for her. It’s like telling a fat kid to eat a cupcake and then saying, “Hey, stop being so fat!”: you baited them. And not only that…

Everyone’s got a little crazy in them.

We just don’t go to the Chateau Marmont and act batshit crazy in front of Perez and his asshole friends. You know why? Because we weren’t in The Parent Trap when we were twelve years old (I imdb’d her age and did some awesome math. I’m not THAT creepy). It turns out that pays a little more than the hourly rate at the Homefield Advantage baseball card shop (I got unlimited airheads and jelly bellies. I should have negotiated a bit harder). And you know what you did when you got money in your formative years? That’s right: you bought pot and alcohol. And you did them. And then you passed out in front seats of cars. And then your friends laughed, and you became a lesbia…well ok so you just went a bit apeshit and had too much fun. The kind that got you grounded when you came home and tried to go through the doggie door and your mom woke up (totally hypothetical).

But that’s the thing: you just got in trouble, everyone knew you were just going through “a phase”, and then you grew up and got a job. So take a minute, go through your upbringing and your childhood shenanigans. Ready? Okay. Here’s how that same thing went down for Lindsay Lohan.

It turns out people looked at Lindsay Lohan when she was a kid and said, “Hey! That girl is gonna be cute and already kind of is! She should be in movies.” You know who they said that to? HER BATSHIT CRAZY mom. And her dad who was…oh I don’t know, IN JAIL ALL THE TIME for being a person who does things that make them go to jail (again, re: not your dad). So captain moneyhoarders one and two put her in movies. When she was around sixteen, her mom said, “Hey, Lindsay, don’t worry about school or thinking. Check out this awesome alcohol I found that looks like water! Go drink it and date the guy from That 70′s Show. He looks like a winner!” And then when she got wasted with her friends and came through the doggie door (AGAIN, hypothetically)? Her mom was right behind her because she was coming home from the party, too.

Here’s the fun part: she made a billion katrillion dollars in the process. When I had twenty bucks? I thought it was a killer idea to go buy some keystone light because it tasted really bad and made me want to lunge at girls who were out of my range. Lindsay had enough money to buy nine bars, drink them, and then laugh as one of her twelve cars drove her home. Oh, and her mom was high-fiving her the whole time. If someone told Lindsay Lohan at this point in time that the police were magical unicorns that only emerge when people without money look at other people, she would probably have to believe them. She just didn’t have a normal upbringing.

Fast forward to now, and the girl is a trainwreck. Her career choices were to create a fake tanning line in LA (which I’m pretty sure is like making a line of designer snow or ice cubes in Alaska) and to create a designer line of…leggings. She has dated ninety famous people who also live in hollywood/narnia and her last movie was like a movie about a hooker who’s not a hooker but MAYBE is a hooker because she doesn’t know she killed her. Seriously. Write that down: this is her career. She is playing grown-up, except she is playing it in magical sugar cookie land.

And now, she just had some whirlwind romance with someone. The kind YOU’VE been through. Where everything makes you laugh and you think people’s breath isn’t bad in the morning because they are SO ADORABLE! That kind. And she’s going through this ugly, terrible breakup where everyone, including presumably your grandparents, know about it. That she “totes couldn’t get into the club because Samantha’s family has a restraining order on her.” That she has been twittering cray cray galore about how Samantha sucks. Everyone is watching someone have a REALLY bad breakup, and we’re all talking about it like this is so unheard of and “sad” because she’s pathetic.

If someone watched my breakups and took pictures and documented it? Yikes.

“Michelle breaks up with Drew because he is a goldminer in Nevada with no career ambition.” says US Weekly.

Cover of People Magazine Headline: (Picture of Michelle) “I’m dating a male model, and I’m happy”

“Drew out of control drinking wine on mom’s couch. ENOUGH says family…they are worried he’s rehab bound!”

Drew’s Best Friend Speaks! “He’s just…he doesn’t do anything but cry. Like, a wheezing cry. Oh, and he writes her all these letters. It’s kind of creepy.”

All of that right there? Not one word is fiction (yeah I was a goldminer for a summer. I know, right? ladies, line goes to the right). See? Now I’m batshit crazy. Because my girlfriend and I broke up, and it sucked. That’s it. It’s not that exciting.

But the bottom line is: I had a bad breakup and my family took care of me. When I didn’t get a real job? My family said that Narnia is actually closed now, so I’m gonna have to try to get one of those “real” jobs in San Francisco. They took care of me.

This girl’s family is just sitting there. They are not normal. They are putting out press releases.  No one is saying, “Hey kiddo. Maybe sit this one out and, you know, don’t talk for a while.” They are letting her give interviews to US Weekly. Because THAT’S a healthy outlet.

So if you see Lindsay on the street, say sorry. Tell her that you are probably kind of crazy, too. Maybe not BATshit crazy, but probably a little crazy, too. Because really, we’re all a little crazy. You just don’t have a camera on you when you are drunk texting your ex at 2am or falling asleep on street corners in Menlo Park because you “died”.

(Hey, I got a little crazy in me. What can I say? Lindsay: Call me)

Oh Michael…it was only a matter of time. I feel like your jewish mother doling out advice…but c’mon man, really?

Here’s a twofer/update on the progress of how fast Michael Phelps is going to lose the ultimate “I-can-hook-up-with-anyone-get-out-of-jail-free-card”. The first one doesn’t really shock me. Michael has been sleazin’ it up at strip clubs in Vegas, and hanging out with the striped shirt brigade. I mean it’s probably a better idea to get that out of his system here rather than in magical clamydia land a.k.a. China. The only thing odd to me is that strip clubs are predominantly for people who CAN’T score really hot women, so they pay for the make-believe hot women to create this illusion for them. Phelps right now could honestly walk into the Roosevelt hotel pool lounge and point. So why pay, buddy?

Now here’s the “holy shit that is way too predictable” story going on. And by Sunday? We could have a full-fledged US magazine cover story. Michael Phelps is supposedly getting courted by none other than Lindsay Lohan. Wow. Her girlfriend must be kind of bummed that the fake lesbian stint is apparently coming to an end. But really…Lindsay Lohan being a lesbian was about as believable as a minotaur. Which, for those at home, is not believable and is not a real creature, much like the mythical Lindsay Lohan. Am I jealous? Who knows. Back in the Mean Girls days…yes I would have been jealous. But now? Michael. Come ON man. You could probably play your cards right and get anyone. And you are going to the hollywood starlet used car lot? She’s like the equivalent of a 1982 honda civic at this point: it runs, gets the job done, but it’s really unattractive and everyone will make fun of you for driving it.

Hey, while you’re at it, I hear Tara Reid is available.

Michael Phelps in an outfit he picked up at "Forever Fratastic"