“It’s Britney bitch!”
I don’t remember when exactly I first heard this lyric. All I remember is that a spontaneous giggle erupted from between my fingers as I tried to cover my mouth. She was back, she was bad (more like pathetic), and it was all so good.
I’ve hated Britney obstinately ever since she sang, “Something isn’t raaayet”. I hated her when loving her was fashionable. It was only recently that I recognized the pleasure that can be had from her antics. I knew that I had missed out on a ton of funny stories because of my “No Britney For Me” policy. Wishing to make up for lost time, I dived head-on into the media pool of tabloids, blogs and videos (yes Crocker, I mean you), and I found a veritable treasure. A frigging El-Dorado.
I learnt about dropped babies and shaved heads. I read about the interview where she excused herself for a pee break about 20 times. Is this real? Are these publicity stunts? I didn’t care. I just wished she’d get a tattoo on her bald head or go hunting with Amazons or something like that. I watched the world from her eyes.
What will happen if something happens to her? What if she decides she’s had enough and decides to settle down to a quiet suburban life with K-Fed? I was plagued by these unholy thoughts. I even considered getting my daily fix from lesser train-wrecks like Paris and Nicole. But then a deep calm filled my being. I knew she was going to be around for a long time. She has a shit album out, she’s touring and she even has a new man in her life (that sinister looking Arab fella). There is still a lot of money to be made off of her, and Hollywood takes good care of its cash-cows. She might still be around when she’s 60 and release a children’s album opening with an endearing “Its Spears, my dears”. I would listen to that album. Everyone would.
Because after all it is Britney… bitch.