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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"Old men have their fishing stories, and Sampson L. Hartwig is no exception. The best fishing story is when I was nigh 25, I went fishing with my college buddy Meadows.

Meadows was an expert fisherman, raised in a fisherman family. His father was a fisherman, his father's father was a fisherman, his father's father's father sold lingerie in Times Square, but the father of that father's father's father was a fisherman as well, so on.

I had all the lures money could buy, and some I could only trade sexual favors for. Meadows had only a pack of gum. He chewed a piece, shaped the A.B.C. gum into a somewhat fish-like shape, and wrapped the silver wrapper around it. It looked sort of like a fish, I was even tempted to bite it myself. Meadows put it on a hook and tossed it into the water.

'That's all the bait you're using?' I asked him. He smiled slyly, tilted his hat down over his eyes, and nodded. I began using my high-tech lures, one after the other, and all through the day Meadows only used the gum-and-wrapper lures he made himself.

Well, by the time the day was over it was quite a surprise. I had a cooler full of 33 fish, all various sizes large and small, while Meadows' cooler was full of empty beer cans and vomit. I later found out Meadows was considered quite the loser by his family of fishermen."

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Just when things are going pretty good for you again, just when they start to look up again after you've been down and out for the count, at your lowest and just starting to get back on your feet again, it's the same ol' story: Hit by a car and dragged for three days solid.

If you want to argue technical details, sure, the car was not in motion every minute of every hour of those three days, and the complete time, I estimate, was closer to 70 hours than 72, but who's going to argue the details after you've been dragged for three days straight by an automobile? Me, that's who. Details are nature's prison guards.

It started out innocently enough, leaving work Thursday night and stepping out into moving traffic. Little could I guess, though I probably could have seen if I'd bothered to check the oncoming traffic first, there was some speeding car with a driver of drunken magnitude. I was struck, but only clipped, fortunately. Then I was dragged through the streets for three days.

Three days is not a lot of time for most things. If I performed surgery three days in a row, few would consider me a surgeon. Yet in the matter of being dragged by a car, I think three days is enough time to consider me an expert. Yes, if it's not so brazen, I now consider myself an expert on being dragged by a car. I could receive stipends to speak at universities on the topic of being dragged by a car. In fact, I may.

I'm pretty sure the drunk driver had no idea I was snagged on something, I presume the fender, of his car. At worst I would like to think maybe he caught lights flashing off the fender and assumed he was being pursued by cops, and if he hadn't been in fear of being arrested he would've stopped to see what was making all those sparks and screaming noises at the rear of his car.

As I said, he stopped for gas a few times, and I suppose he missed me, as I'm of small stature and frequently rolled up under his car. I would've tried to free myself but it was hard to stay conscious, given the extreme pain I was in as well as the lack of sleep. If I had to pick one, probably the pain was the biggest factor.

Soon I realized that it was either free myself or die. I could not endure more than another 300 hours, I'm guessing, without surrendering to the agony. Thinking quickly, mostly remembering old episodes of MacGyver, I managed to grab ahold of the carburetor and, with the help of a lighter, fashioned a crude blowtorch. It was at this point the fender naturally gave way and I rolled off the road into a ditch.

In that ditch I lay for hours. Bloodied, broken, and very pissed off. I was found by a deaf-mute woman who threw me on her back, me being a short and uncumbersome load, and carried me to a local hospital. I found myself in Tupelo, Mississippi, in the most miserable pain I've been in all my life, as well as quite surprised I had gone so little distance in the span of three days. Even not driving constantly the drunken driver should have gotten further than that. As best I can figure the drunken driver must have turned and circled back the other way quite a number of times, or failing that, he had been driving very slow most of the journey. I say it certainly didn't feel like he was driving very slow but it does seem the most logical answer, since I'm recovered enough to be conscious this Monday morning and I'm still alive.

Is there a lesson to be learned from all this? No. None at all. The best lesson you can hope to salvage is that a so-called "walk" sign is not really a guarantee you'll get to the other side of the street. I suggest the government work on improving that right away. Until then, I have demoral.

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