She has tattoos on the back of her neck, and a new pair of red and pink lips on her wrist.
Her tattoo artist in Los Angeles was quoted as saying that she wanted something "dainty." How fitting.
A few days earlier, she checked into Eric Clapton's Crossroads Center, a rehab facility, in Antigua, but checked out the next day. Apparently, sobriety is not for her.
Remember the old Roach Motel commercial? "They check in, but they never check out." Who would have guessed that she is not a cockroach?
I know that she has children because she was observed changing a diaper on her table at a restaurant in L.A. several months ago, but they have not been much in evidence lately. Apparently, motherhood is not for her either.
I can work up a little compassion because she clearly lacks the intelligence of an analid worm and was probably raised without any kind of social grace, none of which is her fault.
But she has made an obscene amount of money hawking cotton candy sexuality, and could be doing a lot of good for those less fortunate. Instead, her personal life is a colossal train wreck.
The children she brought into the world do not effectively have a mother, and somebody needs to bitch slap her into shaping up and taking some responsibility for herself.
Sooner or later, we all have to do that.
