At the risk of sounding like a total whore for the entertainment industry, I feel the need to give some serious props to someone: Ms. Brittney Spears.
Doesn't it feel like yesterday when we were all convinced that we'd see her bald, bloated, drug-addled corpse lying on the floor of a seedy motel room on Entertainment Tonight? Well guess what, America? The bitch is back...with a vengeance. Her new album sold over half a million copies in its first weekend; not too shabby by most measures. She's been running the entertainment circuits and making appearances with Madonna at the annual Who-Gives-A-Flying-Fuck Awards (sadly, there was no making out this time).
I am genuinely happy with how well that chick has turned her life around for a few reasons. One is because, even though I love a high profile train wreck as much as the next person, I actually felt bad for her. I mean, there are psycho hose beasts who get off on that kind of negative PR, but it really seemed like the media was trying to kill her. But we backed off. We let her fade away for a while. I don't know if it was Dr. Drew who made us aware of her problems, or Trey Parker and Matt Stone for pointing out how absurd the whole scenario was, but we gave her some slack to get her shit together. That gives me hope that maybe we aren't quite as morally bankrupt as those preacher folk lead us to believe. As a culture, we've gotten past watching people get mauled by lions to satiate our bloodlust; at least now we don't have to actually go any where to get it.
Another reason Brit's turnaround warms the cockles of my heart is because she holds a special place in my heart...or maybe that's my crotch...I'm not exactly sure. She reached the zenith of her career during my adolescent years. As a young boy on the cusp of becoming a man, I would have sold my own mother for one night with Brittney Spears. C'mon, if you trace her career, she'll appeal to just about any guy with a pulse. Innocent girl with a dirty mind? Check. Teenager whose chastity is questionable? Check. High class stripper? Check. Heir apparent to Madonna? Check. She even appeals to gay guys who wear way too much mascara. Seriously, that cat is the one who needs a doctor, or at least the number of a good beautician. Did the whole of Male America really want to watch one of its greatest sex symbols go out like this? Rule three of The Sex Object Handbook clearly states, "Leave a beautiful corpse."
Finally, now that the Brittney cosmos has once again realigned, there is void in the fabric of public ridicule, ripe to be filled by the giants, he-shes, and bearded ladies of generations past. Now is the time to say farewell to reality TV and welcome back to the ten-in-one from the days of old. Give it back to people know how to exploit a crowd of rubes. All thanks to Brittney. Thank you, Ms. Spears. I do not know you (and desperately wish I did), but thank you.
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