I'd like to preface this entry by saying that I fully intend to swear. A LOT!! There is no way to adequately and appropriately discuss the subject that I am about to talk about without obscenities, so I plan to use plenty of them. If you are easily offended, then I'd suggest heading back to some other, less obscenity-laced website, like this one.

You might not know it, but I have had an assful of the celebrity stalking and star fucking that goes on in this country. Every day on every radio and television station, there are segments talking about pop stars and actors and wannabe actors and no-talent hacks and who's married to whom and who's diddling whom and who got arrested for what and who is which starlette's baby daddy, etc.

Enough.

The simple fact is that it's all envy, pure and simple. People demand access to celebrities and athlete's private lives and private moments because they can't live that way in their own lives. These are the same people that will bitch about Michael Vick or Roger Clemens making 15 million a year "just to throw and / or hit a baseball" and how "no actor is worth 25 million a movie.

Yet people still watch and listen. Shit, entertainment tonight's been on so long that I bet Mary Hart no longer even has a working vagina, yet people still watch, just waiting to hear that new morsel about Bennifer or Brangelina or whomever else is in the news, like Kenne Cheswigger and Chenise Risheen and others.

But there is an exception to my rant about the media and the people doing this. And that exception is the clusterfuck that is the marriage of Britney Spears and Kevin Federline.

These two media whores couldn't get enough attention if the government added a 25th hour to every day to extend the non-stop coverage of their pathetic, drug-haze, DFACS needing existence. I don't think Britney or that turkey buzzard she married leave the house without thinking of some way to get their name/picture/image/film snippet into the daily celebrity stalker news reels.

Just look at the last few months and years. There was Britney's repossession of meth-head's ferarri, the baby in the lap fiasco, Britney's Hindu ceremony (including media), Federcletus' new Popozao single which stands to be the most mocked arrangement in the history of man, and I won't even go into their coon-ass, white-trash courtship and wedding or the subsequent breeding.

Anyway, last week the Grammy Awards were aired. I know it's not the Oscars and that some of the folks attending don't hold it in the same regard as other awards shows, but it's still the Grammys, and she has actually won one of the awards, so she should respect the event a little.

Anyway, here's what she and Cletus wore to the event:


A number of things stand out in this photo. First, Kevin still thinks that that turd-looking ponytail look of the 1990's on the professional tennis tour is cool. You will also notice that despite wearing a tuxedo jacket, the dickweed is wearing an untucked and unbuttoned pseudo-dress shirt revealing his mustard-stained wife-beater t-shirt, blue jeans and (not shown here), he's wearing Chuck fucking Taylor All Stars to boot.

And now for Britney. For the first time in a while, she's dressed better than a homeless crackhead visiting a swap-meet or some single mom cruising the local mini-mart for a latte and a pack of Newports. Oh, except for this little thing:

Hey Britney, you know-nothing nearly talentless whore!! Your fucking nipple is hanging out!!

I mean, is she so desperate for attention this week that now it's an "accidental nip slip?" What's next? Some paperazzi stumbling upon Britney giving herself a Brazillian in the snack chip aisle at the local Super Walmart?

"Oh gosh fellas. I didn't expect to see YOU here. What am I doing? Hey, why can't you guys just leave me and my family alone? We're just regular people like you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish waxing my taint for my loser-ass husband who's in Vegas blowing my money like it's going out of style and fucking hookers and crack whores alike. And I left my beloved child locked in the car outside, and I don't want his brain to melt. Bodyguards, confiscate everything but the film they've already shot, act surly, and then demand that I be given the space I need to see if they have anymore addidas track suits here, along with some horribly out of stle Ug boots. Oh, and get me some fruit roll ups too..."

This child has no shot of being remotely normal. Zero. Shit, I bet Francis Bean Cobain is more likely to become the President of the United States of America than this kid is to even know how to read or write. But know this, little Shaun Preston will most assuredly be able to speak wigger.

So that's it. Much like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and most of the rest of the local 96Rock playlist, I have had a lifetime ass-full of these inbred turds and I will tolerate it no longer. I will change channels, stations, and grocery aisles and do anything else I have to do to avoid them any longer.

Oh, and I can't wait for the impending bungled murder / suicide that should happen within the next three years. I'll watch and read about that.

Thanks for reading everyone. Have a great Tuesday.