| (No profile, low pay - keeps the doctor away) |
Oh dear, Britney Spears is coming apart at the seams. What a shame.
I've been a total fan since a fellow blogger made me aware of the fact, some months ago, that she'd gone a bit spazzoid and hacked off her hair in public (Britney, that is - just to be clear). I was only vaguely familiar with her name before this, unfortunately, but feel that I have subsequently made up for my ignorance. True, I've only ever heard one song (very catchy), yet consider myself pretty much up to speed with her biographical details. She....is....brilliant.
Anyway, it looked very satisfying when The Troubled Superstar shaved off her hair, so I quickly followed suit (my one and only act of celebrity emulation - terrific fun.) Unfortunately, whereas Britney Spears looked unusually attractive with a shaved head, I just looked like a simian retard - or, if you believe my girlfriend, "even more gay than normal."
Now look here, but how on earth is it possible that a mere haircut can transform a nauseatingly well-hung and fantastically thrusty sex-lion into an ugly looking monkey-lout? It seems inconceivable. There's simply no getting away from it, though - I looked mortal. Kids, seriously - just say "no". But I digress.
So, the other night, Britney had a three-hour heave-ho with the police before being stapled to a stretcher and bunged in an ambulance. She was whisked off to a clinic where "the out-of-control mom of two" spent the night under observation. All of this was filmed and instantaneously disseminated. (fank you, baby Jesus.)
The fun-free spoilsports who run the Cedar-Sinai clinic, however, simply refused to play nicely and resolutely kept the details of her stay private (for a while). Luckily, though, whilst she was in there, an ethical being over at the courthouse leaked the documents outlining her (doomed) custody battle for the kids. Yay. So we at least had something to read whilst we waited for her to sober the hell up and undergo psychological evaluations etc etc and blah blah blah (*yawn*). Yes, yes, yes...we know she's breaking into tiny little pieces, you silly medical professionals, you. Now get a frigging move on and send her back outside so we can all watch her spin towards an increasingly likely date with oblivion.
Hang on. That's not very nice or funny at all.
And where oh where is TV's Dr. Phil when you need him? Ah, there he is. That's him barging into her hospital room, uninvited, injecting himself into the proceedings. Guh....but....snuh....what? Dr. Phil, no offence, but you seem like a bit of a prick.
