TDF

Dear Miss Spears,



I?m writing to you today as a Christian woman, a pious mother of two, and an inveterate liar.

Ha -? funny, aren?t I? I figured I?d start one way, and then, you know, ?flip the script? on you, as they say in the Hollywood. When we last wrote each other ? or, more specifically, when I last wrote you and you never responded ? I was lauding your latest magnum opus, "Oops, I Did It Again," and insisting that you dump Justin Limbercock like a bad batch of General Tso?s Chicken and instead get with a man who packed nine inches of stiff ebony billy club. I believe I even predicted that Justin would be working the nightshift at Hollywood Squares by now.

Well, it looks like my calculations were off by a tad. Justin is an even bigger pop princess than you these days, and his career shows no sign of slowing -? at least until it comes to a crashing halt in the restroom of an amusement park sometime in 2006. And, unfortunately, penile transplant surgery hasn?t made the leaps in progress that I prophesized when I insisted you?d be a satisfied piece of Britney Beef skewered on my pulsating, black dick-kabob by now. I suppose I can stop hanging out around inner city emergency rooms waiting for a donor.

Jeez, look at me -? I?m blathering like a lovelorn fool. I?ll get to my point here.

You see, I am writing on behalf of myself and all grope-happy solo skin flute artists, to thank you for the stunning display of playful bisexuality you and your elderly cohort, Madonna, put on for the MTV Video Awards last night. I?m not shy about the fact that I gleefully punished my pirogi several times to the chirping beat of a ripped copy of your performance set on loop. Nor am I shy about the fact that I was sitting naked in my apartment with my windows open so the neighbors could hear the fist-on-fatpad slapping noises and would know that I was occupied and should not be disturbed for any reason short of a fire. And even in that event, the flames would need to be lapping at my ass-hairs to constitute interrupting my decadent Roman Orgy of One.

Like your slightly chubbier but nearly as delectable Russian progeny, TATU, you are doing the world a greater service than you know by publicly nuzzling other female pop stars. Even though the Material Girl was butched-up for her performance, those of us veteran pop culture junkies still recall her shocking display of navel in the ?Lucky Star? video, and, today, we can stalk the parking lot of any suburban strip mall and reap the rewards of her pioneering work in mid-drift technology.

Now you, my sweetest Britney, have upped the sluttiness ante once again. You?ve cemented your byline in annals of masturbation. Millions of young girls across the world began their journeys into womanhood with you coyly prancing past lockers in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit, before progressing to the milestone ?Slave? video ? a landmark for boners of all ages. Then came the dark ages: the Limbercock Era, when you coordinated outfits with a pubic-headed nancy-boy and preached the laughable ?saving myself for marriage? bullshit. Many of your faithful, sausage-stroking sheep left for less virginal pastures during these difficult times, but I never gave up on you, Brit. In the deepest pits of my loins, I knew it was all just a passing phase, and that you would return to your belly-baring, penis-stiffening roots. I was correct.

Bless you and the work you do, my dearest Britney ? everyone loves lipstick lezbos, and, through your actions, you?ve helped create millions of them. God smiles upon thee, Britney Spears.

Now when are you gonna break me off, whore?

Lubed up,

Paul

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Sig heil