10-11-2004, 04:34 PM
I thought this was kinda funny. Not that it has anything to do with anything, but just as a way to kill five minutes and get a couple of smug, self-satisfying smirks at the idea of how far the mighty are falling...
A lot off the top
By STEVE TILLEY
Edmonton Sun
This will be the last time I write about Britney Spears. Ever. I don't even care if she dumps Kevin Federline and tracks me down and begs me to teach her pleasures of the flesh that her husband never could, then I chronicle same here in the newspaper of record. Britney is dead to me now.
Like so many of my major life revelations that revolve around underwear, I didn't actually realize it until this week when an auction appeared on EBay, offering a pair of panties that Britney wore on her wedding day.
"Britney wore these to the house where her wedding took place, then later changed when she put on her wedding dress," the auction said. "This is 100% guaranteed authentic. This item was personally worn by Britney Spears. I will also include a copy of the staff pass I was given to enter the house that night, as proof that this item is genuine and that I was there that night."
The bid was up to about $170 before EBay took down the auction (apparently creepy underwear thievery violates their acceptable use policy), but I naturally imagined what it would be like to win the auction and have Britney's ginch arrive in the mail. Then I realized I'd be afraid to touch them. Literally, genuinely scared of handling an article of clothing that had been in contact with Britney's own Louisiana bayou.
When the thought of handling the undergarments of a pop tart sex kitten in the privacy of your own home only makes you wonder if you've got a bottle of that antibacterial hand cleanser stuff around, you know the magic is gone and it's time to say goodbye.
It's kind of sad that there was such a fleeting window between Britney being of the age of majority and her slide into total, irreversible hillbilly skankdom. Worse yet, that Justin Timberlake jumped through that window.
He must be laughing himself hoarse, first with the $550,000 Super Bowl boob fine levied against CBS, and now with the knowledge he cashed Britney's v-card before she skeezed out and got married twice in the span of about eight minutes.
The sad thing is, Britney is probably just being herself for the first time in her career. She smokes, drinks and eats crappy junk food just like the rest of us. She shops at 7-Eleven. She swears. She scratches her butt in public. She marries a dancer who can't bother to shave his gross scrabbly beard for the ceremony, then fires her manager because he had the audacity to make beard-boy sign a pre-nup ... OK, maybe not so much like the rest of us.
You can take the girl out of the trailer park, as they say, but apparently you can't make her wear shoes when she goes to a gas station restroom. Man, that one still gets me. Maybe I've got some sort of Howard Hughesian germ fetish, but for me that's a total deal-breaker no matter who you are. And not just because I like sucking toes.
I'm not saying Britney is unattractive. Even with the extra flab, acne, a Marlboro Light in one hand and a two-six of J.D. in the other and a layer of restroom floor sludge on her feet, she's still hot. Albeit in that I'd-never-ever-ever-take-her-home-to-mom way.
It's just that the Britney mystique is irrevocably gone. No longer will I be able to sit in my living room with the curtains drawn, watching the I'm a Slave 4 U video over and over and over. OK, that's a total lie. But it won't be the same.
With the panties, the marriage, and now her career swirling down the toilet and the paparazzi practically killing each other to get the next shot of her scarfing down a cheeseburger, she's overexposed in every possible sense of the word. A guy can only take so much. So long, Britney, it's been a slice. With double pepperoni and extra cheese.
A lot off the top
By STEVE TILLEY
Edmonton Sun
This will be the last time I write about Britney Spears. Ever. I don't even care if she dumps Kevin Federline and tracks me down and begs me to teach her pleasures of the flesh that her husband never could, then I chronicle same here in the newspaper of record. Britney is dead to me now.
Like so many of my major life revelations that revolve around underwear, I didn't actually realize it until this week when an auction appeared on EBay, offering a pair of panties that Britney wore on her wedding day.
"Britney wore these to the house where her wedding took place, then later changed when she put on her wedding dress," the auction said. "This is 100% guaranteed authentic. This item was personally worn by Britney Spears. I will also include a copy of the staff pass I was given to enter the house that night, as proof that this item is genuine and that I was there that night."
The bid was up to about $170 before EBay took down the auction (apparently creepy underwear thievery violates their acceptable use policy), but I naturally imagined what it would be like to win the auction and have Britney's ginch arrive in the mail. Then I realized I'd be afraid to touch them. Literally, genuinely scared of handling an article of clothing that had been in contact with Britney's own Louisiana bayou.
When the thought of handling the undergarments of a pop tart sex kitten in the privacy of your own home only makes you wonder if you've got a bottle of that antibacterial hand cleanser stuff around, you know the magic is gone and it's time to say goodbye.
It's kind of sad that there was such a fleeting window between Britney being of the age of majority and her slide into total, irreversible hillbilly skankdom. Worse yet, that Justin Timberlake jumped through that window.
He must be laughing himself hoarse, first with the $550,000 Super Bowl boob fine levied against CBS, and now with the knowledge he cashed Britney's v-card before she skeezed out and got married twice in the span of about eight minutes.
The sad thing is, Britney is probably just being herself for the first time in her career. She smokes, drinks and eats crappy junk food just like the rest of us. She shops at 7-Eleven. She swears. She scratches her butt in public. She marries a dancer who can't bother to shave his gross scrabbly beard for the ceremony, then fires her manager because he had the audacity to make beard-boy sign a pre-nup ... OK, maybe not so much like the rest of us.
You can take the girl out of the trailer park, as they say, but apparently you can't make her wear shoes when she goes to a gas station restroom. Man, that one still gets me. Maybe I've got some sort of Howard Hughesian germ fetish, but for me that's a total deal-breaker no matter who you are. And not just because I like sucking toes.
I'm not saying Britney is unattractive. Even with the extra flab, acne, a Marlboro Light in one hand and a two-six of J.D. in the other and a layer of restroom floor sludge on her feet, she's still hot. Albeit in that I'd-never-ever-ever-take-her-home-to-mom way.
It's just that the Britney mystique is irrevocably gone. No longer will I be able to sit in my living room with the curtains drawn, watching the I'm a Slave 4 U video over and over and over. OK, that's a total lie. But it won't be the same.
With the panties, the marriage, and now her career swirling down the toilet and the paparazzi practically killing each other to get the next shot of her scarfing down a cheeseburger, she's overexposed in every possible sense of the word. A guy can only take so much. So long, Britney, it's been a slice. With double pepperoni and extra cheese.
Thanks for posting Neil.