Britney: Breakdown dead ahead

Just sitting here watching Boz Scaggs clips on youtube. Did I ever mention here that I am a huge Boz fan? Well, I am, bitch. It's Britney, bitch, and Boz is the man.
Oh, the Britney thing on the vma's..... fuck me Dorothy. As promised, I will blog on that nightmare.
First off, I actually burst out laughing at the "It's Britney, bitch" thing. I admit I didn't mind the song really - I mean, bitch ain't no Boz Scaggs and the song ain't no "Breakdown Dead Ahead", which is the clip I am watching now (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFCnVC2C8As if you want to see a roomful of seniors half-assedly cheering for a 60 something star of the late 70s, but still, his music rocks. Bitch.). But yeah, I guess you could say it was indeed a breakdown dead ahead once the performance started. You know, I always have had a soft spot for Brit deep down in my heart, because I mean, we all do stupid things like, oh, you know, marry a loser when on the rebound. Like, when your ex, who suddenly brings sexy back, and starts dating a Diaz type of woman (who incidently I see nothing in - I don't get the big shit about her - she's an un-ugly Zellweiger), it's natural to start riding your back-up dancer like a lawn tractor and having his babies, all as a defence mechanism. Of course, to put it on the scale of the normal people, it would be like us breaking up with our better halves and running off with street people we met taking money out of the town water fountain. But it's the same thing.
And then there's the whole stupidity of the reality show that made you hate her, but really, if I had my own show, people would hate me too. SO I related with that. And I mean, bitch likes a good Starbucks, slurpee, and Big Mac, so I mean, it's all good.
We've all had bad haircuts too. Sometimes I just want to take it all off too. And I mean, while I think tattoos are the devil's work, it's your funeral, so do whatever.
But, motherfucker, whatever that was you were doing on stage, well, honey, I can move my fat ass faster than that. I think fucking Helen Keller could have had more speed and rhythm actually. Like, what was it, Brit? Vicodin? I wasn't sure, but it's a pill of some sort. Oxycontin? Whatever it is, you need to just get some motherfucking cocaine like every star of the 70s and 80s and move that ass. It's JT, Bitch. If you are going to be some drugged out, washed up porn star lookalike, at least drug yourself right. And, you did look like some porn star that makes guys think "you know, you just look too stoned and dirty..... no thanks, I'll dance with myself tonight." You know what i mean - all stoned hookerish, like you just would say "hey, wasn't I just fucking Richard Dawson in the bathroom before this? Wild!" And I don't think you are fat. But bitch, they think Calista Flockheart is fat. So don't give them ammo.
And where in the hell is your stupid ass hillbilly mother? Out getting high with Lindsey Lohan's retard of a mother? I bet that's it, because I'd be "You get some motherfucking clothes on and get back to rehab, or I am selling the kids to Kevin". And the kids? All you readers, think of your mothers, alive or dead, and imagine if you caught your mother on national tv saying "it's Ethel, bitch" and stumbling around in her granny panties and old lady mom bra. Therapy needed for them, alright...
And finally, did you see the people laughing at you? Rhianna is a frigging dork, so if she is thinking she's better than you, well, honey, you got problems. Same with Puff/Piff/Diddly/Dudly/asswipe Combs, who I would rather shat on than meet - if he looks puzzled by you, then that's bad, because he was freaky enough to hump that greaseball J-Lo. You know, Jenny from the block, the one who bullies and marries everyone and is greasier than a slug. And 50 cent? No, bitch wasn't high. He was wishing he was though. You ain't gonna do anything for the cause of white bitches chasing Black guys, because their mamas are all nodding their heads saying "see, I wasn't wrong - white bitches are crazy".
So, Brit, hate to say it - you moved like an agitator in a washing machine set on on gentle.... shish..... shish.... pause.... shish......
It's fucked up. It is what it is, and it aint brilliant.
But anyway, say hi to Paula Abdul the next time you see her at Dr. Feelgood's, or Whitney's, or wherever it is you all get your lizzard mixture.
Can't wait for the comeback.