Every time we see Britney Spears, our interior monologue starts singing nursery rhymes. Example:
Little Brit-Brit in that car,
How we wonder what you are!
Do you come from Crazytown?
Or are you playing us for clowns?
Either way, you're making bank,
You bleached-out, tuneless, redneck skank.
Maybe that's her own childlike wonder rubbing off on us. Or maybe just looking at her jams our IQ-level down a few dozen pegs. She's like an enigma wrapped in a mystery slathered in Rotel and deep-fried to a golden, crispy brown.
Don't believe us? Just look at that photo at the link below: is she an uppity pop star riding her previous successes straight into MILFhood, or is she a clueless child-bride/plaything for her boyfriend/agent Jason Trawick? Since Jason's forced her out from behind the wheel of her beloved Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen and into the passenger's seat of a snowy, glowy, snore-inducing BMW 335i convertible -- on an outing to Party City, no less -- we're going with door #2.
If you need help, Britney, please call us! We're here for you! We're in the book! (Yet another book you probably don't read, but ask a friend.)