An Open Letter:

 

Dear Britney,
      I hope this letter finds you doing well. As for myself, I'm a little under the weather. At first, I thought it was herpes, but turns out it was just heat rash. I know you may be thinking why I'd write to you on such a public platform, but after 62 unanswered letters asking for various favors, I figured I'd show how much I lust for you, here, in front of the 3 or 4 people who actually read this blog.  I know that your life, as of late, may be a little hard to deal with.  The whole court thing with your father after being crazy for so long, and that's not even mentioning your marriages.  You've gone from being on top of the world to the bottom rung of Scumville.  Well, maybe the middle rung, but whose really keeping track?  I could very easily blame K-fed for your spiral into the trailer park, but I'm not like that.  I actually think all your husbands are geniuses. Well, not Albert Einstein kinda genius, but a genius, nonetheless.  How can I find fault with a guy who did exactly what I would have done, well, except for the whole impregnating you with my demon seed thing?

 
 

Listen, my little Possum Poon, I don't think it's too late for you to realize that I'm the man that needs to be in your life.  Who cares that I despise kids, that's what our nannys would be for they can watch those little bastards while you and I bask in our lust for one another,  Now, I know what you're saying, something along the lines of "I'm Britney Spears, I can get any man I want." well Britney, that might have been true a while back when you were hot Britney, but you must find someone that can truly appreciate a dirty ho-bag.  Coincidentally, I happen to be that person.  Let me put it to you this way, I can appreciate your fat thighs and stretched marked body. Me!   I'm the one you've been looking for. You see love, had you been smart enough to fall for me, we wouldn't be in this situation, because I would have never desecrated your temple by with my accursed baby batter.  Sure, I would have been happy to deposit some anywhere else you desired, but I would have never impregnated you.  Alas, there is no turning back the hands of time now, and there is nothing we can do but I can promise that I would not do that in the future.  

 

 

Again, let me reiterate, that means to "state again", just thought I'd tell you that, I don't want your head exploding 'cause your little urinal cake brain g0t a terminal case of overload. Now that should show you how much I care about you, darling!  I'm not trying to say anything bad about your current love life.  Although I did think of something a little while ago while I was at the strip club, maybe he helped you through these rough years this to get you into some sort of commitment. As a way of keeping you devoted to him and to continue to hand over the platinum Visa at his every whim. Seriously hun, why not send one of them little black cards my way.  I'm one helluva guy when you get to know me. I even promise to pick you up something nice to wear at night.  All I am saying is if you were to drop that zero you would have much more money for yourself. I don't need that much, a little for some booze and weed, a few dollars for the ladies down at the Slap and Tickle Lounge and I'm golden.  In return I can give you thirty-two seconds of pure, exotic, monkey passion at your request.

 

 

Remember sugar, I dig fatties!  Mostly because I, too, am one of them and like attracts like and all that scientifical biorhythm nonsense.  I know what your going through.  I know you secretly dream what it would be like to be that girl in the Johnny Depp trial poopin' in a bed.  All thin and sexy.  Or even Lyndsey Lohan, who in her own right is kinda hot, at least crazy hot.  And that's all in spite of the occasional bouts with dehydration (close quo-ta-tion marks, but I think you know what I'm saying). I like you just the way you are, I'm wouldn't try to make you loose what is left of your self-esteem.  I wouldn't be out spending your hard earned money like some people we know while you're locked in your bedroom eating girl scout cookies dipped in butter and smoking your life away like a chimney.  I hope you understand where I am coming from. What I think is, it's time to give him his pre-nup money and bring in someone who knows how to treat a river pig like yourself.  

 

 

C'mon peaches, think about it, I come from a place and time where we know how to grab a set of sweaty love handles in the heat of passion. How to squeeze 'em just enough to make you dance around like a freshly de-capped chicken. You cant learn these talents.  Either you are born with them or, well, quite frankly are a know nothing looser like your bodyguard turned hubby. We all know he wasn't born to ride the wave in.  You're dirty, and I can't get enough of it.  I remember when I saw that picture of you walking out of a public restroom bare foot;  I knew then and there I had to have you!  You girl, that's who I'm talking about.  So what if you look like a nightmare without makeup, I'm not trying to be with you for your looks, I'm trying to be with you for your cash. Wait sweetness, I didn't mean your cash; I meant your calves, those fat, luscious, hog calves that need to be slapping against my back.  I know you must feel a bit confused while pondering all of this, but rest assured, I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do.  Not even going ass to mouth, unless you wanted to.  Now that definitely show how much I care about you. I mean if that doesn't, what the hell will? 

 

 

Now you might feel that little pang of guilt about not wanting to separate your children from their father, and I wouldn't want you too.  I know, let him keep 'em.  There's an idea.  That way it gives us more time to be together to do all the wild things we want to do while we grow deeper and deeper in love as well as grow our waist sizes.  It would be great babe, you know it would and I'm willing to forget about all of your shenanigans.  That little 24 hour Vegas marriage thing?  Never happened as far as I'm concerned.  Now that I think about it, that's what that anullingment thing did already so we're all good there too.  I don't need the old, hot Britney, I'm completely satisfied with the bat shit crazy tubby one who walks around with that pudgy belly.  Whaddayasay, baby cakes?  You, me, a bottle of Maddog, a blunt, and some Lynyrd Skynard, or however you spell it, they should have come up with a name easier to spell if they wanted to be more popular, right?  Anyway, think about it, you know where to find me girl.

        XOXOXOXO