"I'm not a caretaker." That's the lame-ass excuse a ghastly-looking Courtney Love made on Access Hollywood when asked about her recent arrest and OxyContin overdose, and the fact that daughter Frances Bean is now living with her grandmother, Wendy Cobain. Has anyone read Love's interview in this month's Elle magazine? "These are my real boobs," she blurts, and we all get to see them because she's topless in the agonizingly drawn-out photo spread. In the same breath in which she claims their authenticity, she goes on to praise her plastic surgeon for making them look natural. Wha? Let's see: boob job, boob job, boob job, plus boob lift? Oh yeah, those are her real tits. Pretty soon they're going to look like two facsimiles of Michael Jackson's nose poking out of some aged, Norma Desmond-like getup, if her appearance on Access Hollywood is any indication.

Really, is there anyone left who can defend Courtney Love? Though it might not have read accordingly, I've spent the last several years trying to find the good in Love and though some of her gibberish makes sense in a flashing, manic sort of way, I'm telling you, it's just not there. It's been a decade of her hollering at us about how talented she is, how smart she is, how connected she is, and how goddamn empowering to girls she is, and it's all just hot air and bullshit. On October 10, the state of California exerted its power to put "someone deemed to be a danger to others or themselves under 72-hour evaluation" and placed Love in Las Encinas Hospital where none other than Loveline's Dr. Drew runs the rehab program. Tell me, is a statement like this, taken from an interview Love did with New York's (not always reliable) Daily News afterward, in any way cool?

"Cops and two ladies in white coats came to my house," she recalls. "I got jackbooted. My mouth was taped shut. They put a Ping-Pong ball in my mouth. And, honey, you don't get to say you're sorry for that, because it wasn't in bed."

You don't say. (And, I might add, in bed--who would say sorry?) Love claims she walked out of the facility after 24 hours. It sounds like she then played Princess Cast into the Forest until she came across some teenagers.

"I looked like a [bleepin'] bag lady," she recalls. "I had no shoes. I had to hide in a bush like four [blocks] away. Then I see a house with two 14-year-old girls in it. So I knock on the door and I say, 'Hi, I'm Courtney Love. I'm leaving the loony bin.'"

So let's see: In the as-yet-unfinished month of October, Love's been arrested for trying to break into a house, OD'ed on OxyContin, has had her daughter taken away, walked out of state-mandated observation, and then told two 14-year-old girls that she's leaving the loony bin? How is that defensible? Love goes on to say that authorities were worried that she was planning to commit suicide because she was changing her will.

"Yes, I was changing my will that week," she says. "I [also] left a message that was like, 'I want to die, I want to jump off the Empire State Building.'"

Love says those remarks were meant to be a joke. I bet she thought she was being brilliantly sardonic. But we all know who the joke is, and whom it's really on. No, it wasn't fair of Kurt to kill himself and leave her with a note saying she should live on "for Frances." But to act like it's no big deal that their daughter has been removed from Love's custody is just the last fucking straw. With that, Love has managed to shock me. Finally. How awful for everyone who ever was a fan.

Maybe (what am I saying, maybe?) she'll make a guest appearance when the ROCKRGRL conference takes place in Hollywood on November 1. This time the gathering is a one-day type thing featuring keynote speaker Meredith Brooks (For god's sake? Oops! I forgot, she's a BITCH), and panelists including A Whole Bunch Of People I've Never Heard Of, as well as a few I have--Go-Go's drummer Gina Schock, original MTV VJ Nina Blackwood, and Amanda Rootes of Band on the Run's Harlow.