Because I like to beat dead horses
Before sending off Toombsday and his BFF Nathan on an Appalachian Trail Hike, we happened to notice Britney Spears giving her interview to Matt Lauer. It wasn’t like we decided to watch…it just happened…honestly.
Anyhow, I’m compelled to watch the Hollywood star downward tailspin into hell type stories. I secretly hope that some celebrities, like Paris Hilton, will have an affair with a political type who, afraid that it will turn into a media frenzy before a major campaign, happen to “erase” her and cover it up with an accidental drug overdose. A girl can dream, can't she?
So when Britney’s face is streaming in tears, faux eyelashes hanging on for dear life like a winky doll, her shattered image somehow transfixes me. I’m evil. I know. I revel in her sugarcoated reality of a devastating life. That is until she glossed over her incident of letting her son Sean Preston sit on her lap while driving, using the excuse, “I did it with my dad. I'd sit on his lap and I drive. We're country.”
Tsk, tsk. We’re country. Are you now? If you were country, would you be driving a Bentley? No, you would be driving a Chevy Dualie Diesel with mud flaps of either Yosemite Sam or silhouettes of naked women. You would also have a sticker of Calvin (from Calvin & Hobbes) urinating on a competing American truck dealer, probably Ford or Dodge. You may have purchased a WP sticker because you thought it was “White Power” instead of “Walden Pond” (and I can say that because I’m brown). It’s either this or a Confederate flag. You would also outfit your dualie with a glass pack muffler so as to create a noise similar to your .22 rifle backfiring. Oh, and we shouldn’t forget the rifle rack on the back window. Now, if you were country, I would like to see some paparazzi mess with you when you drive a tricked out Chevy like this.
And for the record, none of our parents would have let us sit on their lap while they were driving. Not unless they had already had a fifth of whiskey. So let that be a learnin’ for you.
Anyhow, I’m compelled to watch the Hollywood star downward tailspin into hell type stories. I secretly hope that some celebrities, like Paris Hilton, will have an affair with a political type who, afraid that it will turn into a media frenzy before a major campaign, happen to “erase” her and cover it up with an accidental drug overdose. A girl can dream, can't she?
So when Britney’s face is streaming in tears, faux eyelashes hanging on for dear life like a winky doll, her shattered image somehow transfixes me. I’m evil. I know. I revel in her sugarcoated reality of a devastating life. That is until she glossed over her incident of letting her son Sean Preston sit on her lap while driving, using the excuse, “I did it with my dad. I'd sit on his lap and I drive. We're country.”
Tsk, tsk. We’re country. Are you now? If you were country, would you be driving a Bentley? No, you would be driving a Chevy Dualie Diesel with mud flaps of either Yosemite Sam or silhouettes of naked women. You would also have a sticker of Calvin (from Calvin & Hobbes) urinating on a competing American truck dealer, probably Ford or Dodge. You may have purchased a WP sticker because you thought it was “White Power” instead of “Walden Pond” (and I can say that because I’m brown). It’s either this or a Confederate flag. You would also outfit your dualie with a glass pack muffler so as to create a noise similar to your .22 rifle backfiring. Oh, and we shouldn’t forget the rifle rack on the back window. Now, if you were country, I would like to see some paparazzi mess with you when you drive a tricked out Chevy like this.
And for the record, none of our parents would have let us sit on their lap while they were driving. Not unless they had already had a fifth of whiskey. So let that be a learnin’ for you.
posted by anarchic at 2:00 PM
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