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Friday, February 17, 2006
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 LIFE LESSON FRIDAY - BRITNEY SPEARS, DIZZY GILLESPIE & ME
I never thought I'd say this, but I think that I've learned something very important about myself from Britney Spears. Sure, it isn't an Earth shattering revealation or anything like that, but it's important to me. What I learned is actually pretty simple - stupid, annoying girls are a lot easier to tolerate when they're a size three or under.
I've always known that Britney was stupid and annoying, but she used to be so highly fuckable that it didn't matter a whole lot. She could prattle off endlessly and anyone with a penis would nod, smile and hope that it wasn't too obvious that he's too busy concentrating on how much fun it would be to sodomize her that he really hasn't heard a word she's said.
Girls, I'm not the only guy who thinks this way. We all do. Sure, when your man gets home, you can ask him if I'm right or not and, of course, he'll deny it. And if you believe him, you're not much different than Britney. Men don't know much, but we do know that you don't like hearing how we'd like to sodomize young starlets. And while we can't all sodomize young starlets (Paris Hilton excepted), we are sodomizing you or hope to be shortly. Accordingly, your man will make it so that I'M the weird one, which I'm not. Besides, have I ever lied to you before? The answer is no, no I haven't. You couldn't love me if I wasn't honest, now could you?
 Look, I know that Britney's life is nothing if not a long uninterrupted string of incomprehensibly stupid remarks and obnoixious behaviour. Up until recently, it was something that could be forgiven, if not completely overlooked. But when her ass stopped being something that men think about fitting as much of their heads inside of as possible and became a storage facility for various McDonald's and Frito Lay products, my patience wore thin. There's only so much a gentleman should be asked to tolerate, even a man as eminently reasonable as myself.
The weird thing is, I predicted that Britney would end up like this. As a matter of fact, I have a witness. I told the great love of my life Judy back in 1999 that I was certain that Britney was fighting her inner fat chick and probably didn't have the discipline to win. It was only a matter of time, I said, before Spears became a fat, farting parody of the latter day Elvis without the parmaceutical fun. I couldn't be happier that I was right, as being right is the only thing left that brings me anything resembling happiness.
For all I know, Britney might be very happy getting huge and sweaty from Doritos, ding-dongs and shitting out the Unholy Spawn of Federaline. Maybe she's content to sit back and lose herself in a sea of fried chicken as K-Fed composes his follow-up to the triumphant expression of joy that is PoPoZao. I'm not getting that vibe from what I've read, but what the fuck do I know?
If she wants to get as big as a fucking house and devote her life to babysitting her runtish coward of a fucking kid and its slightly more infantile and illiterate father, more power to her. Quite frankly, I love it when women who wouldn't fuck me when they were hot get sloppy and begin to stink of burritos and sexual frustration. It makes me smile. It'll be even better when K-Fed goes through all of her money and they have to shove her gigantic ass back out on the road. Ever wonder what it would be like to see the "I'm a Slave 4 U" dance performed by someone who looks like Dr. Phil but lacks his grace and agility? You won't for long. If that's the life she wants, fine! All I ask is that she give up the "woe for celebrities" sililoquy that that imbicile George Clooney made famous.
Britney Spears isn't exactly royalty. But the pop singer fears she will die the same way as Princess Diana.
The 24-year-old claims she rarely leaves her home with her baby son Sean Preston because she is pursued everywhere she goes by paparazzi.
She said the situation with rogue photographers near her Malibu home had become so bad her life could be in danger.
To be fair, Britney did learn an important lesson from that paparazzo. Specifically, that a bag of pork rinds is not an appropriate air bag for an infant.
At that point, Spears just gets silly.
'Princess Diana got killed by one of these people. I'm not expecting people to pity me. I'm just telling the truth.'
Don't get me wrong, I can understand Britney's spiritual connection to Diana. Both are dimwitted sluts devoid of any talent that didn't involve spreading their legs for jugheads from inbred families. The only difference is that Di married a little better. Not much, but a little.
But if Britney is going to make these kinds of assertions, she should look at the facts. The former Princess of Wales wasn't iced by the paparazzi. She was killed by her chauffer, who was hopped up on Beefeater gin, prozac and stupidity. Or MI6 did it. Whatever. But after innumerable investigations, the only people who are blaming the photographers are the idiot celebrities who would like nothing more than to carry the dead harlot around on a cross of self-righteous ignorance.
There's also the fact that the paparazzi will stop hounding her if she simply abandons her stubborn insistence of being famous. Christ, it worked for Greta Garbo and she could barely speak English! Besides, Britney's waistline is destroying her career even if she doesn't want to. Look, Kurt Cobain had second thoughts about fame once he had a kid, too. The difference between him and Spears is that Cobain was a little more pro-active about fixing it. And do you really think that K-Fed would be a worse single parent than Courtney Love?
Britney Spears was never that innocent and never that smart. But who knew how insufferable she'd be once you became to repulsed by her to masturbate and actually started paying attention to what she had to say? Shit, I had no idea how horrible she was until she got all bloated and doughy. And I don't even have to live with her! Is it wrong that I'm starting to develop an uncertain sympathy for Federline?
 Now, that would be an impressive week of learning for just about anybody, wouldn't it? But that's not the only thing I've learned. Not by a friggin' long shot. I also learned something deeply profound and darkly shocking about myself.
Earlier in the week I was speaking to a young lady friend of mine on the phone. The young lady in question is perhaps even more sexually depraved than I am, which explains why I'll be hopelessly in love with her by the end of the month. It's not often that I find someone possessed of a libido that challenges my own and it seems the better part of wisdom to hold on tight when I do.
We were engaged in a very friendly conversation until the topic shifted, as it usually does, to more carnal concerns. At that point, I was asked a question that changed my life forever.
"What would you do," she asked without a hint of shyness,"if you were getting a blowjob and suddenly realized that it was a man sucking your cock?"
I'm not afraid to admit that I was stumped. I had never honestly thought about that before. I guess I never thought I would be in a situation where I found myself accidently getting blown by a dude. I know, I know, that shows a shocking lack of preperation on my part, and I'm a bad Boy Scout, but what are you going to do? Besides, its been my experience that gay men find me every bit as vulgar and unappealing as do all but a select number of women. I told my lovely friend that I'd need time to reflect on it.
"Well, you wouldn't have time to reflect if you suddenly found a man sucking your cock," she replied. A good point, I have to admit. "So what would you do?"
My reply was tentative as I hadn't thought this through in my four decades of living. "Well, I've always felt stopping a blowjob in the middle of it is like cancelling Christmas when only a few presents have been opened, so I guess I'd just lie back and pretend it was Dizzy Gillespie."
"Dizzy Gillespie?" she asked, seeming shocked by my answer. "Why him?"
"Well, look at those cheeks," I answered in a thoughtful, almost scholarly tone,"I'd bet they could do some real damage to a man like me."
It was only when I was getting truly in touch with my inner fairy that it occured to me that Gillespie died 13 years ago. I won't lie to you, I was more than a little down about that and my voice suddenly became a little morose.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" my friend asked, concerned.
"Yeah, I'm just a little depressed, I suppose" I replied. "I guess my prince will never come."
As you would think, a homo like me gets sad pretty easily.
"Now you know how I feel," she said and we shared a hearty laugh.
All things being equal, it's been a pretty educational week. Although, to be fair, I have had a lot of time on my hands lately.
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