Parents’ Groups to Britney: “Die, Slut, Die!�

ith the November release of her third album, Britney, teen idol Britney Spears has set off a wave of controversy over the seemingly-erotic nature of the lyrics to her newest songs. Spears denies such allegations vehemently, pointing to her much-publicized and very occasionally believed virginity, and her total coyness in interviews, which she often conducts while being photographed riding a gigantic 18-foot dildo. “I think it’s important to stay a virgin until you get married,� Spears recently told The Straits Times of Singapore, wiping a long white streak of what appeared to be dried semen off her top lip. “It’s more special that way.�

Parents’ groups around the world are up in arms over Spears’ newest album, fearing the influence that the virginal exhibitionist might have over their teenage daughters, who often imitate Spears in dress, slang and in sleeping with members of ‘NSync. “Look, it wouldn’t be so bad if that little tramp would just admit that she’s given more blowjobs than Conair. That’s really the part that pisses me off, this whole ‘Who, me?’ act. I mean, Christ in a Corvette, who buys that crap? It might even be worth her influencing my daughter to get pregnant if they could just catch that little bitch in the act,� stated Connie Baustel, head of Mothers Against Bare Midriffs, a Baltimore-area Anti-Spears group.

“I’m tired of people with dirty minds always trying to read gross things into my songs. It’s sad that we live in a world where people think that even a song like ‘Split Me Open and Pound Me Raw’ is about sex,� said Spears when asked about her new album.

“I swear, you get a reputation in this industry and that’s all anyone sees when they look at you. I write a song about buying Christmas presents for my boyfriend’s parents, call it ‘I Wanna Do Your Whole Family,’ and all of a sudden my publicist’s phone is ringing off the hook. Talk about perverts,� Spears stated indignantly.

“I don’t know where these people get their ideas from. This album is about apple pie and fluffy kitties and meeting your pals down at the roller-rink. ‘Touch Me Where the Sun Don’t Shine’ is a really sweet song about first love. ‘Tongue My Anus’ is a song I wrote about my new puppy, Cuddler. You should see him, he’s just adorable,� claimed a totally straight-faced Spears.

The biggest uproar has been over the video for the album’s first single, “Knock Me Up, Knock Me Down,� which features a pregnant and black-eyed Spears performing a suggestive dance routine in front of a trailer home.

“Some people have no sense of art,� commented Spears when asked about the controversial song. “I mean, hell-o, obviously the song isn’t pro-domestic abuse.�

Others aren’t so sure, and some question the song’s lyrics: “Baby, dontcha wanna dance up on my face your love I can’t replace (repeat) / like that / you like it, huh? / I’ll carry your baby if you’ll give me your gravy / Get it, get it / Ohhh / Get it, get it / Ahhhh / Get it, get it / Ooooh / This feels good / Give me a smack and I don’t mean your lips / Show me you’re a man. . ./ Knock me up (heavy breathing) Knoooock me down / I deserve it / I can’t live without it.�

Spears’ album sales remain brisk despite the controversy, with a particularly strong showing in the creepy over-40 male demographic. And the Spears phenomena shows no signs of slowing, with a movie deal in the works and promotional tie-ins rumored for both The Disney Channel and Trojan condoms. For the time being, anyway, it looks like everything’s coming up Britney.

Spears’ fourth album, Cum-Hungry Buttfuck Doll, is due out in the spring.

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You know how you can really piss off a total stranger? Insist they don't know anything about tennis. Everyone from John McEnroe down to Tommy Chong will take offense at a statement like that. Doesn't matter if they've never picked up a racquet before in their lives. It's like a self-esteem thing or something. Everybody likes to think they know about tennis.

Or even better, lump them in with an entire group of people who don't know anything about tennis. You'll be lucky if you make it out of the room alive.

"I don't care what anybody says, the Russians don't know shit about tennis."

This works even better if they're not even Russian, because then they're twice pissed. Once because you think they know jack about tennis, then all over again because you thought they were Russian. You're begging for a belt-whipping at that point. Even if they themselves think Russia is kind of cool, they'll still assume you're trying to start some shit by the insinuation.

Don't even try bringing it up in a fancy restaurant, unless you know how to Jackie Chan your way out of there. People who eat at fancy restaurants are especially insecure about their grasp of tennis. It's like the saying goes; there are a few things you just can't bring up in pleasant conversation. The KKK, botched abortions, tennis, gay sex… there are a few more, I can't remember the whole quote right now.

After you've got a guy fired up about you thinking he knows dick about tennis, a good strategy to push him to the edge is to accuse him of making up words. This is classic. If he says something like "Actually, I'm quite familiar with tennis, I've been a member at the club since I was an adolescent." You counter like "Adolescent? Cripes man, are you autistic? Speak English." I once had a guy try to kill me with an ice statue of a duck after I used that one. Thank God ice sticks to your hands, or I might be walking around wearing a frozen mallard hat to this day.

Every once in a while you'll come across some hotshot who actually is a tennis pro of some sort, the dude looks like Ivan Lendl because he is Ivan Lendl. Don't worry, you're not as screwed as you might think in this situation. If he starts quoting off obscure rules or matches, just start mixing up sports. "Well, that makes sense, if you're bowling, but I'm talking about tennis." If the dude just won't give up, the coup de ville is to say "Oh, you're right. That IS tennis. I was thinking about rugby. You really play tennis? Pretty gay, dude." They you walk away like you can't believe you wasted your time talking to him. I did that once at Wimbleton after I wandered over from a stag party across the street where the toilet was busted and that guy was so pissed I thought his mustache was going to kill me all by itself.

All this just goes to show that everything in life has a purpose. It's like golf. I used to think golf was pointless until I realized what it really is. They give you weapons, stick you in a little car and say drink all you want. It's like being in South America, anything goes. The holes are just there so you have old people to slalom around.

Same thing with tennis. For years I thought it was there just to keep weekend TV from being too fun. You know, some kind of conspiracy run by bars and movie theaters and shit. Then I realized it's like a built-in argument starter. Dude doesn't even have to speak English, if you can pantomime "You don't know a goddamned thing about tennis" you've got yourself a bar fight, in any culture. It's like a gift from the shit-starting Gods.

Bricks out.

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Before you hear it from anyone else, I killed like six cats this week. Three of them I hit all at once, but still, that's pretty unusual.

I didn't kill any of them on purpose, but try convincing everyone else of that. I can't really blame anyone. If the police picked up a serial killer and he said the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, I probably wouldn't believe him. But then again, I don't know why I'd have access to a newly-arrested serial killer at all. Forget it. No more analogies for me.

I hit the first cat on the way to work Monday. I was late for a few photographs for that comic book I'm on the cover of, Metallichick. And this ain't even a talking gig, it's not like they couldn't find some hot skank hanging out on the stoop and get her to fill in. That's how they discovered Marlena Dietrich, my mom said. So I'm driving extra fast and this cat totally leaps out in front of me. The cat is probably dead and these kids are crying nearby, so I feel like an ass for even stopping. So I pick up the cat and tell the kids I'm taking it to the Vet. So they'll shut up. Then I went to the shoot.

Well, the cat's dead by the time I get out, and my car stinks like some kind of "Tell-Tale Dead Cat" movie. I'm really pissed off, but it was probably dead before I even got the Metallichick breasts to stay on. Probably. But now I feel all bad and crap.

I go and buy the kids a new cat at this what-do-you-call-it place. Pet store. And the guy tells me this is the best cat they got, it's a coleco, and the little shit begins throwing up all over the car when I take it out of park. So I put it in the trunk, just for the ride over. The car already smells like dead cat, I'm not going to have puddles of cat vomit on the floorboards, too.

I had to drive around the neighborhood about 30 minutes before I saw the kids playing on a basketball court. I tell them I got a surprise in my trunk, and I do—a dead cat. Those little bastards screamed until I thought the police would show up. If I had to guess, it either died from the heat or that choking thing, ass-fix something. But I tell them he's going to be alright, that I'll rush him to the emergency room. Then son of a bitch if I don't hit three more cats just standing out in the middle of the street, like they're forming some kind of feline chain of protest against me. I didn't even see the pricks.

I decided to cut my losses and not go back to that neighborhood—those kids had to learn about death sometime anyway. That still didn't stop my cat-killing karma because one of those fuckers is screaming out my window all night Thursday. So I'm starting to freak out because when I'm in a normal state of mind I know cats can't really talk to each other, no matter how many good movies are based on that idea, but I'm all wound up about cat killing and think he's calling together an army to attack me.

It's all too fresh in my mind and I don't want to talk about it, but like I told the cops, it really was supposed to be a warning shot. I never fired the gun before outside of the target range and I swear I've never hit anything with the first try. I figured aiming dead at him was the best way to make sure I didn't hit him. Once in a lifetime shot, like one of the police guys said.

If you're one of those PETA people, please stop calling me—I get it. I'm an asshole. My mother's a cat-lover and she'd agree with you. I promise if you all stop throwing pig's blood or whatever it is at me on the streets and spray-painting my car I'll make a donation to some kind of cat-saving group of yours. Just lay off.

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