Somehow this doesn’t seem fair.  Britney has more money than she knows what to do with, and can just go down to the local Mercedes dealer and walk off the lot with a new Mercedes AMG SL65, with a V-12 and 604 horsepower.  She’s got tons of money to throw at this and at partying and drugs (there’s a hearing today on that, y’all) and about a bazillion Fraps and bags of Cheetos, but I can’t get a decent-sized vehicle to drive out of state to visit my father (from whom I am not estranged, mainly because I didn’t do anything stupid to drive a wedge between us).

V-12?  604 horsepower?  Brit probably doesn’t even know what that means.  The salesman who drew up her paperwork probably made a killing on commission…he could have told her the glove compartment dispenses Starbucks and the exhaust shoots out candy canes, and she would have believed him plus signed up for the McDonald’s Drive-Thru discount.  She probably thinks there are 604 My Little Ponies under the hood making it go fast.  What gas price crunch?  She runs over a pap’s foot with that thing, it’ll be halfway down the street before he even realizes it is gone.

Look at all those guys standing there watching.  They’re probably thinking about how much scrubbing they’re going to have to do on the seats in her trade-in after she’s drove it around all summer with no underwear on.  Did she ever wash the Starbucks off that thing?

Do they give out cookies in car dealerships now?  That’s probably why she decided to trade…look, free cookies!

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a four-door used Cherokee?  My dad’s out of state and he wants to see me…

Did anyone else think of this song when Brit cussed these lines at a reporter today:  “Eat it, lick it, snort it, f**k it!”  Seriously, her little fit of temper fits perfectly.  And she may not have actually said it in this tempo, but in my head she did, and after all, that’s what matters.

Here’s what came to my mind…make up your own post, it isn’t hard to find the lyrics that fit Brit’s life:

But wait, there’s more…

The buzz on the street is that Paris Hilton’s new film, a musical horror flick called REPO:The Genetic Opera is destined for the bargain bin of the dvd section at Wal-Mart. Based on the trailer, it’s like a cross between SAW and Phantom of the Opera, which from my viewing tastes, couldn’t be worse.

Which brings me to my next question. Who on earth watches these gory, vile films full of person on person violence? Don’t get me wrong, I like scary stuff. Seriously. In our house, we celebrate Halloween all month long, which includes monster movies, scary themed music, all the various campy films that embrace the spirit of Halloween.

But I really don’t understand why people want to fill their minds with images that are so violent in nature, only a mentallydisturbed person could truly appreciate them. Yes, I know these films are for the 18-25 set, but what the hell is wrong with the 18-25 set that they need to watch people being disembowled, dismembered and decapitated?

Sick and twisted. Of course, this is the same group of people who made Paris Hilton famous to begin with, so there you have it!

Dear Santa:

I just wanted you to know that I’ve been very, very, very good this year and I have not been bad at all…at least, not so’s you’d notice.  I can explain about that time I hollered at that old grandma in Wal-Mart.  And there’s a perfectly good reason why I tailgated that guy on my way to church this week.  And I swear, I didn’t mean to be so nasty when that teenager working at Taco Bell forgot my chili cheese burrito.  There is a perfectly good explanation for all of this.

I’m just a wee bit crazy.

So, if you can overlook that, and realize that I really am trying, and that I have a good heart (that I’d like to get healthier), then you can understand why this is all I am asking for this year as my Christmas present.  You see, my badonkadonk has a bit more kadonk that I like, and I want to get it in shape.  But who has time, now that I am writing for GlossLip?  I barely have time to work in my three-hour daily nap, my afternoon carb overload, and my midnight Moon Pie odyssey, let alone find a chance to get on the treadmill.  This could solve all my problems.  Yes, I do need to learn how to type and walk at the same time, but I recently mastered the art of walking and thinking about where I am going, so I am pretty sure I can do it.

I know it is going to run about $6500 USD, but think of the joy you’ll give me when I find this under the Christmas tree.  And I promise, if you bring me one, I won’t write that piece about you and those suspicious “reindeer games”.  Hey, I can understand how these things happen, but I’m just sayin’, that’s all.  You forgot the numero uno rule of celebrityism…never record in any way what you don’t want to come back to haunt you.

Have a nice Christmas.  I’ll try to remember not to eat all the chocolate chip cookies and to leave you a couple.

kthxbai
k

(It looks fuchsia to me)

Now, you can take a little piece of Beyonce with you everywhere you go.  Introducing the B’Phone, a tricked-out Samsung UpStage SPH-M620 Sprint-mobile music phone, personalized by Beyonce herself:

The handset features gold-and-burgundy colors designed by Beyonce, a Beyonce-themed startup screen and the ability to download exclusive Beyonce photos, videos and a song she recorded as a child.

“When I was 10, I recorded a song called ‘632-5792′ — a phone number. It’s a little embarrassing but it’s cute. There’s a recording of that song on the phone exclusively for my fans,” Beyonce told journalists. “I wanted to make sure people got a feel for who I really am. It’s only through this phone that you can get this close to my life.”

You know, just this morning when I got up and was eating my Frankenberry cereal, I was ruminating on what was missing in my empty life, and I came to the sad conclusion that there just was not enough Beyonce in my life.  I didn’t feel close to her, I didn’t have any sort of feel for who she really was.  It was like she was a stranger to me.  I felt so….alone.

Then, as if on angel’s wings, the heavens opened and the news that I could, at last, achieve my dream came to me, and now I know that I’ll truly never be alone again.  My life has new meaning.  I can both feel close to Beyonce and give her money that I’m sure she so desperately needs.  After all, somewhere there are orphaned weaves who need the kind of home that only Beyonce can give, and now I can be a part of that.

And the best part?  They will go on sale November 4 at Wal-Mart.  As if it couldn’t get any better, along comes the best part.  Wal-Mart!  Now even the most remote corners of the world can have the gloriousness that is Beyonce in their hip pocket.  I’m sure, somewhere in Iowa, a farmer is dancing in his cornfield, secure in the knowledge that it is just a few short weeks until he can drive his tractor to Wal-Mart and get his very own B’Phone so he, too, can feel close to Beyonce.