January 24 2008

I wake up feeling deeply worried about Britney
Spears. I think my pity-producing glands are
in overdrive and the spillover is going to
strange targets. Britney floats in my head
wearing her pink wig. A recent tabloid cover
has her photo with the words "Time Bomb"
written underneath it. She makes good reading
because she is so morally bankrupt--
oversexed, spaced out and stubborn--and yet
I wake up this morning feeling sorry for her
in a way that makes me doubt if I will enjoy
another tabloid story.




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