I Can't Quit You

Oh, Britney.

Britney, Britney, Britney.

You've been such a dirty mess the last few days, where do I start with you?

Let's start with this crazy slop you call hair. Will you please stop kiddin' yourself, thinkin' you look good. You look like a shit shake and you know it. You can't fool us.


And those lips, those boots.



As much as I (sometimes) get a big ol' kick outta seein' your name in the headlines, and I'm always entertained with the notion of what you'll do next, here's what pisses me off, you dumb slut (cuz you're totally readin' this, waitin' for me to personally address your behavior and mothering skills so you can jumpstart your road to recovery...):

You leave your kids in the car while you shop for effin' chandeliers(!?), you fail court-appointed drug tests (it's not like the fuckers sneaked up on yo' ass!), you run red lights with your babies in the car, you're out bar-hoppin' every effin' night, your music SUCKS (like, really, really, really fuckin' sucks! No link, just my personal opinion -- and I'm sure the opinion of millions...) and, finally, I think I can smell your stank from here.



Look at you. You're a GD wreck!

And I'm startin' to think you're payin' these poor inbred people to stand on your Hollywood Walk of Fame star holdin' these signs.