Get well Britney

I am not a Britney fan. I watch Britney movies/videos; listen to Britney songs/interviews to indulge my need for sadism. I am a bitch. That, I will concede. I actually have Britney/Kevin: Chaotic on my wish list on Amazon.com.

Will I still purchase it?

Likely, no.

I've decided today, after the reports of yet another Britney disaster, I am done.
I see red lights flickering, flickering, and flickering. Sanity is a delicate thing, artists, however limited, have egos, artists are eccentric. Eccentricism is a nicer word for mild madness. In fact, I don't even think it's a word, that's how mad it is. I nod and accept that term when someone applies it to me, keeping myself in check because, as an eccentric person, I invent grudges, feuds, death matches, etc.

Brit's slipped a bit. If you only believe half of what's in the tabloids you still must say, "Brit's slipped a bit".

You've slipped Brit-Brit.

There are no shoes with the appropriate tread able to help Britney catch her footing; we need a fucking harness and crane to right Britney back to at least Leaning Tower of Pisa stability.

Why should we do this?

Hell if I know. Because I've laughed at her expense and now want to be a self-righteous, "we must do the right thing" pain-in-the-ass? Yeah, that's it.

Brit, I want you to get better, part of me only wants it so I don't feel guilty for chuckling at you, a smaller part of me is a nice eccentric person who feels empathy, not topless in hot tubs with back up dancers empathy, or no panties empathy, friends with Paris Hilton empathy, young mother empathy… but… some kind and sincere form that occasionally pops out when provoked by train wrecks.

Choo choo.

SMASH!!!