Letter of Truth: Part An Infinite Supply of Bad Idea Jeans

Y'all.

Um! Look. I don't know WHY y'all are all acting all WORKED UP every time I leave the house, but I was taught that just because things are going all backasswards in your life like when OLD FAT JUDGES decide that just because you can't always tell your kids apart maybe you should stop doing drugs, it doesn't mean you're not allowed to dress up like a P-I-M-P and get your drink on, okay? I saw on Judge Joe Brown yesterday that it's NORMAL for people to use ALCOHOL to solve their problems so why don't all y'all just LEAVE ME ALONE. But take my picture first.

Whatever the opposite of LOVE is,

BRITNEY.

Letter of Fug: Part MOMMY'S CRYING

Psssssst. Hey, you alls. Come over here.

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Shhhh. Be very quiet. I'm not supposed to be talking to anyone because "my downward spiral is too depressing." I don't know how that's possible since I don't even have a spiral perm but whatever. The people who post up these letter thingies on the internets think I don't hear them when they call me "Princess Tragedy Trainwreck" behind my back, but I have ears just like the walls do IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Anyway. I know people are all oh my god she's a terrible mother and a really bad driver and we totally miss her snake and I am here to tell you that that snake was totally a pain in the ass so you should get over that part of it right now. All the rest of it will work out just fine if all y'all would just CHILL and OPEN YOUR EYES and see that I am WEARING SHOES IN THIS HERE BATHROOM. God. And people (MOM) say I don't ever listen to anybody's advice.

LOVE,

It's MISS BRITNEY BITCH because you are nasty.

Letter of Fug: Part SHUT UP Y'ALL SERIOUSLY. GOD.

Hi y'all.

I don't EVEN KNOW. I mean, seriously, y'all, sometimes I wake up in the morning and it's like 3:30 and the new nanny is watching Oprah and and the kids are running around and screaming and wanting things from me and I just think, "DAMN, BRITNEY. What have you gotten yourself IN TO NOW?"

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Because I really thought that when I divorced Kevin, Justin would come back in and marry me or maybe Colin Farrell or somebody else with an accent and then we'd run off to Gulfport or wherever and he'd spend all day combing my hair and Sean P and the other one would bring me Popsicles and we'd all be so happy but instead I ended up shaving my head and then some other stuff happened that I don't totally remember but I'm pretty sure most of it was my mama's fault, like I never would have done that whole thing with OK Magazine if she had LOVED ME MORE or something. I'm pretty sure I read that in a magazine right next to a story about how I am having a lesbian affair with my assistant which is TOTALLY UNFAIR because that only lasted like three weeks. And then people started making this whole big deal about how I wanted to whiten Sean P's teeth like they never looked at their baby's teeth and wondered why they looked so yellow or forgot to change their diapers. I am a WORKING MOTHER, Y'ALL. It's NOT EASY keeping up APPEARANCES and taking care of A BABY. Two babies. However many babies. And my face is my FORTUNE, Y'ALL. I am an ENTERTAINER. I have to go out and BE ENTERTAINING and I think I am A SUCCESS. For serious, have you seen how many people take my picture every night? It's because I am HOT.

For serious, I am WORKING SO HARD to make a life for me and my family of however many kids it is and all I hear is BLAH BLAH BLAH LOOK AT HER HAIR. WHERE ARE HER PANTS? WHY DOES SHE WEAR THOSE ILL-FITTING CHEAP-LOOKING UNFLATTERING BROWN BOOTS ALL OVER THE PLACE? ISN'T THAT A SHIRT AND NOT A DRESS? BLAAAAAH. I just want all y'all to SHUT UP. I MEAN it. If I want to have a lesbian affair with one of my employees and get drunk in front of my kids and pay my neighbor fifty bucks to Google "baby plastic surgery" for me so no one finds out that I'm thinking about getting the little one a chin implant THAT'S MY BUSINESS.  And so what if everyone finds out that Kevin used to grind up my medication and hide it in my milkshakes and that's why I didn't used to act quite as crazy? Does that make him some kind of HERO? Just because he gives the kids CARROT STICK THINGS instead of NUGGETS? Kids LOVE nuggets! Everyone knows that! Do I have to write a book? Maybe I will write a book. I'll write a book called KIDS LOVE NUGGETS by Britney Lynne Spears or whatever my middle name is and it'll be a hit just like Harry Potter and THEN WON'T EVERYONE BE SORRY THEY TRIED TO MAKE ME QUIT DRINKING. HA!

Suck on it, toolsheds. YEAH, I MEAN YOU.

Britney

Letter of Fug: Part Wig

Hey y'all.

So, yeah. It's been a while, right? I've been....busy. You know, with some stuff. Boring stuff where I had to make my own bed and talk about all my PROBLEMS and whatever, while I think we all know that my biggest problem rhymed with BEVIN KEDERFINE.  And now everyone likes him or something, just because he was all taking care of the babies while I tried to beat him with an umbrella which IS NOT THAT BIG A DEAL. Anyway. I'm out and about again, THANK GOD:

WHAT? Like you haven't ever SPILLED on a WHITE SHIRT? What's with all the JUDGING? Frankly, I think y'all should just be happy that I am ALIVE. Because for a while there, people seemed to be wondering if I WOULDN'T BE and there was all this "wah wah, I'll never be able to work out to 'Toxic' again if she dies" and now that I'm not dead it's like some big deal if I don't have a BRA ON or something. You all need to admit that you are powerless over if I wear underwear or not and make a fearless and searching moral inventory of YOUR OWN SELVES and LEAVE ME ALONE and just be glad that I look happy and sorta toned.  Go bug Jamie Lynn or something.

Whatever. I still hate everyone.

Love,

BRITNEY!

Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards Fug Carpet: Jamie-Lynn Spears

"Hi y'all! It's been ages since I've been out and about, allowing myself to be seen. It's been kind of an awkward year. For a while there I was mostly hiding behind bushes, or running upstairs and slamming the door and locking it and turning up my Fall Out Boy CD really loudly to drown out the sounds of my sister banging on it and yelling at me to braid her hair, or rip out her hair, or try getting a brush through her hair, or wash her hair, or tell her she had pretty hair -- or toward the end, lotion up her scalp. I tried to be there for her, because I love her, but sometimes, a girl's just gotta hide under the bed with her BlackBerry and her stuffed dog Mr. Muffins. Right?

"Still, I'm here, and I'm doing swell! I'm a little overtanned -- all that time under the bed made me a little pasty, and I got overexcited when I snuck out to buy bronzer -- but otherwise, really, I look pretty great. Or at least that's what everyone keeps telling me. Well, okay, Britney didn't say that; she asked me to spot her $20 and then told me my shoes could fetch a nice price on eBay if I never wore them again. But my brother saw me and burst into tears and said something like, "It's a miracle" and muttered words like "normal" and "dodge" and "bullet" into my shoulder while he was sobbing on it, and my mother didn't say anything, but while she was locking my chastity belt's bonus padlock, she looked really relieved and proud for a second. In fact, I'm getting a lot of that -- people keep squeezing me on the shoulder, or hugging me extra tight, and telling me how clean I look as they wipe the tears out of their eyes. I'm not sure why they're so emotional, although apparently Hilary Duff's new album is really raw so maybe they were just listening to that on their iPods. I can't wait to put out an album. Mom said I could become a singer on the 10th of Never, but then B came in and threw a vase at her and then tried to light her copy of Crossroads on fire, so I never got to sit down and ask her when that is, but I think it's, like, Roman for "November," which... AWESOME! I had better get writing! Get ready, y'all!"

Letter of Truth, Emergency Weekend Update: Baldy Edition

What? Like y'all ain't seen a girl having a nervous breakdown shave her head before?

[Photo via Oh No They Didn't!]

I look like an alien, y'all! An alien from planet SPEARS. Or maybe like a....no, like an alien. A sexy, sexy alien.  And everyone can just SHUT UP about how I'm supposed to be on drugs and how I was only in rehab for ten minutes -- I WAS JUST DROPPING OFF A PACKAGE TO THOSE REHAB PLACES, because I am, um....I'm totally working for REHAB MEALS ON WHEELS. It's a CHARITY! -- and how I'm totally losing my custody battle (whatever that even is) and blah blah blah blah. Aren't you happy that I'm not all showing you if the rugs match the curtains anymore? (PS: NOW THEY DO. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. I'm tired.)

I just wish people would stop paying so much attention to me! Can't a girl get some PRIVACY? I'm just quietly trying to live my life, y'all. I don't know why I have to be FOLLOWED everywhere! It's not like I want all of everyone's attention all the time. Would you say that I'm acting like I want people to look at me? Because I would not.

God, my bald head RULES. I am going to save so much money on extensions and hair dye and shampoo and conditioner and hair spray and more extensions and now I can fire that hairdresser my mother hired after I went on Matt Lauer so I "didn't look like a feral cat."  Whatever, MOTHER, I think feral cats are pretty -- they have blue eyes! -- but now you don't even have to WORRY ABOUT IT. Because lookit, everyone: NO HAIR AT ALL! So SUCK ON it, magazine who said my hair might fall out from over-dying: I'ma STARTING OVER. Like that TV show. Is that still even on? I liked that show. I should go ON THAT SHOW. YES. That is a great idea. I'm going to call my agent right now. I wonder who my agent is.

Okay. Stuff to do. So much to do. So much stuff for me to do. I have to go buff my head and then call my agent about Starting Over and then I need to place ten to twelve heavy breathing calls to Justin and then I need to call J.C Chasez and ask if I can open for him when he goes on tour, just like the old days, and then if he says yes, I need to write some songs real fast and then I need to go buy some beer and then I need to moisturize my tattoo and then I have some other stuff to do that I can't remember and then I need check to in and make sure my little girls are still alive and then I need -- oh, wait, they're totally boys, my bad -- and then I need to go get a sandwich. GOD. I better get on it.

Okay, talk to you later, guys! Bye! Bye! Bye! Why am I so amped right now? Maybe I need to sit down. No. I don't.  Okay! Bye!

LOVE,
BRITNEY.

PS: OR BALD-NEY! HA. I just thought of that. Maybe I should start doing some STAND-UP! HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE? Okay. Bye for real.

Letter of Fug: Part REVENGE

Hi y'all,

I know it's been a while, but listen -- I've been real busy with things. And I know a lot of y'all think I've been acting real trashy since Kevin and I split up, but listen, it was a ROUGH TWO YEARS THERE. Sometimes a girl just need to take her vagina out for some air, and that's all I was doing, so maybe you shouldn't judge me so much because if you'd been married to Kevin Federline for however long we were married, you would go on a binge later too. Anyway, I had this whole thing planned out where I explained WHY I stopped wearing panties for a little while and WHY I was pole-dancing with Paris Hilton and stuff, but then I found this, and I need to take care of it, first:

LISTEN PARIS: YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY MAN. I mean it. YOU STAY AWAY. OR I WILL TOTALLY CUT YOU. Everyone thinks I'm so dumb, but these are things I know:

a) Justin is single again

2) You and I are friends all of a sudden

3) you totally love to hook up with your friends's ex-boyfriends. Like you took Stabby Nachos, if that is in fact his real name, from the little tiny Olsen. And then you did the same thing to like four other girls and their boyfriends that I can't remember anymore.

d) ERGO: You are TOTALLY going to try to hook up with JUSTIN NOW. DON'T DENY IT. I KNOW YOU ARE. I KNOW IT. AND THAT IS BULLSHIT. IF ANYONE IS GETTING BACK TOGETHER -- OR TOGETHER...OR WHATEVER -- WITH JUSTIN, IT IS ME. ME! ME ME ME ME ME.

So I mean it. Stay away. Get away. Get far away. Because that skinny little Olsen girl is too little to screw with you, but I am NOT. I have still got some baby weight and I will use all of it to RIP OUT YOUR SKANK EXTENSIONS. You MIGHT be able to talk me into pole-dancing naked in your rec room or whatever, but I am NOT going to let you get away with THIS. I have been PLANTING THE SEEDS OF REUNION (I heard that on a commercial for Days once) for like FOUR YEARS and you are not going to UNDO IT ALL. You might have a deal with the DEVIL -- oh, I said it. I think you're THE BRIDE OF SATAN and I really mean that like FOR REAL, not metaphorifically , I think you ACTUALLY WENT INTO HELL and took Satan's hand and pledged to serve him for ALL ETERNITY and wore a veil and everything -- but I sang "Oops, I Did It Again," and I'm just as rich as you are and if I have to fight THE DEVIL to get Justin back, I WILL.

FROM:

Britney

PS: I really mean it.

Fuggis and Fugney

Dear Diary,

So, I totally have a new friend to tell you about today! It didn't really work out with Nicole when she was blonde (and between you and me, Diary, she is even less fun with the brown hair -- I mean, what's the point of having dark hair if you aren't hiding weed underneath it?), and, like, oh my GOD, dude, Kimberly Stewart was really NEEDY. She called me ten times a day until I made her cry that last time, and I SWEAR I caught her rooting through my bathroom trashcan, picking out my old extensions and taping them to a hair clip. Which, EW -- it looked EXACTLY like a hair clip from a drugstore, and not the FUN kind of drugstore, so GROSS.

Anyway, so I found this new blonde person now and I think it's going to work out because even though she kind of already worships me, she attracts WAY better photographers than Kimberly did. And, she's going through a totally rough time right now because she's getting a divorce, so she wants to party and dress up and stuff and get really dirty and freaky, which is my FAVORITE THING EVER to do. Like, this one time, I put on my favorite red party dress of that week, and she got out this old thing she used to wear when she and her husband played that weird Ice Dancing game where they were at the porn Olympics, and we decided to go out and party. And it was, like, TOTAL sisterhood, you know? And it was SO SWEET because we were really cold, and she remembered that her ex-husband had a bunch of old pieces of panty-hose in his drawer from the olden days when he would stick his head in them and then throw over a 7-11 (she used that word -- "throw over" -- I don't really know what that word means but it is so Law & Order I can't even STAND IT and I think I'm so good now at saying the word that I should probably order up a part on one of the episodes, right? Do you think they deliver?). But anyway, so we had these pieces of panty-hose but there were only two, so we each wore one -- me on my right leg, and her on her left leg, which I swore was her right leg, but she kept telling me it was her left and that she would know what her own left leg looks like since she was BORN with it, DUH, and you know what? I don't know what her left leg looks like, and maybe it looks like it's on the right -- there ARE people who are born that way, I'm pretty sure, and if she's one of them, then maybe we should start some sort of charitable manicure program that benefits the Righty Left Children or whatever. It's a good idea.

Anyway, it was soooo fun -- she's like the sister I never had! Sometimes we sit up all night and drink vodka from baby bottles and talk about boys and divorces and our music careers -- apparently, she had some albums and shit, but I don't REMEMBER Pamela Anderson having a record or anything, do you? But she got all mad and screamed that she did too have more hit songs than I did, and she didn't seem to like it when I called her out and said I'd never heard of any of her songs and that she would need to PROVE it. In fact, she ALSO didn't really like it that much when I called her Pamela, but dude, I KNOW Pamela Anderson when I see her -- like, those things are KIND OF hard to MISS, you know? They're bigger than Nicky's head! So anyway I told Pamela to shut up and finish her Zima and she kind of got upset again but then once she was done chugging it and then shotgunning her Bud Light (she said her mom calls it a Trailer Martini -- how kicky and retro! Also, does Pamela Anderson HAVE a mom? Wicked!) and then everything was fine again.

Can't wait to see sister Pammy tomorrow! We're gonna get tattoos that say P&P Music Factory (even if she IS lying about having all those albums) and it's going to RULE. I talked her into it after the third bottle of Jagermeister. She said it would be even better because Kevin would hate it ("Kevin" is how you say "Kid Rock" in Michigan speak -- they are so funny up there!). Whee! Paris and Pammy!

Sloppy kisses,

P

Letter of Fug: Part WHOO HOOOO

Dear EVERYONE,

I TOLD Y'ALL I WAS GONNA DO IT.

To Kevin: HA HA. I was just waiting until I started to get hot again to file the papers. Check out my cute, post-baby body. HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS? Yeah! That's what I'm TALKING ABOUT. It's a CLASSY dress on a HOT BODY and I still have LIKE A LOT MORE DOLLARS THAN YOU DO.  So you can SUCK IT. When I told you the other night that I was bringing sexy back, I was NOT kidding, even if you did laugh.  Who's laughing now?! (I am.)

I hope you enjoy the case of Pabst I gave you to celebrate your stupid  "album" dropping, because that is the LAST THING you are going to get from me EVER. I hope your cornrows all fall out and you trip on your manpris and you break your face and you crash your car.

To Cameron Diaz: Watch yourself.

To the rest of world:  YOU'RE WELCOME.

LOVE, BRITNEY!

Letter of Truth: Part BOO-YEAH

MAH BITCHES!

What is UP? Hey HEY! Yeah,  I'm just standing here, doing The Sprinkler in front of Westfield Shopping Town. TESTIFY!

So, yeah, we haven't talked lately and you know, Britney is always saying I'm like a bad communicator and shit but the truth is, yo, I have got my HANDS FULL. First of all, my acting career is off the HOOK.  Check it out: I'm on CSI this week and listen, I fucking rock the house on that show. I'm pretty sure they're going to ask me to have my own CSI. CSI: YOUR ASS. And I'll go all over America investigating HOT ASSES. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Holla!

But seriously, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get my own show now, and then who'll be the breadwinner, baby? That's right: yo soy la breadwinner, bitches. And that'll be the end of  "No, you can't buy a Slurpee machine," and "Who's the person in this relationship who HAS a Grammy?" and "please hold the baby."

So yeah, I've got this whole acting thing happening and I also am doing a lot of shopping, obviously, and I'm been really busy not tying my shoes and buying pants that make me look really stumpy, because MAN does that piss B off, and she's really funny when she's pissed off, because then she starts yelling and sometimes her gum falls on the floor.  Let's see, what else have I been up to? I feel like there's something else. DAMN.  My short term memory is for shit now, dude.

Damn, I am just fooling wit' you. I remember what else is going on in my life: MY CD. Yeah, I know everyone thought my single sucked monkey balls (to quote my wife, like, THANKS FOR BEING SO SUPPORTIVE. Damn. You sang a song about your damn diary once. Jesus.), but that's because it's a concept album, dogs. You just haven't heard THE WHOLE THING. It makes that Timberlake punk look like Lance Bass. YEAH, I SAID IT. TIMBERLAKE'S A GAY! Heh.  I said that to Britney once and she punched me in the ear. She so easy.

Oh, yeah, and we had another baby.  I ALMOST talked B into naming him Sean P2, but she ain't that simple.  I also wanted to name him Snoop D -- like, Sean P is after P Diddy, so why not give some love to the D O Double G? And she said no.

She's so boring, dudes. My next wife is going to be Paris Hilton. You know she would totally let me smoke out at home.

And now she's yelling at me again.  Something about me emptying our 401k? No way she could have found out about that shit already. I better go on damage control. Which means, turn up the Vandross...it's time for Baby Number Three.

PEACE OUT, BITCHES

Federleazy

Letter of Truth: Part Justin

Dear Justin,

I just heard a rumor that you finally broke up with that scrawy cracked-out ho and I just wanted to tell you that everything I told Matt Lauer about how my marriage is awesome and stuff is a total lie.  Call me! 

I made a picture of what it would be like if we got back together! Look:

Seriously, don't we look happy together? It will totally be just like this, too!

So call me! Or you can email me! It's the same email I always had. Or you can IM me if you want! IM is good! I'm still SweetCheetoKisses on AIM! Or just come by the house! Come by whenever you want! My mom will TOTALLY let you in.

Okay! I'm really excited! This is going to be great!

Bye!

Love!

Britney

PS: Seriously, don't we look happy together? I can't wait!

PPS: Wear that hat!

Letter of Fug: The Refuggening

Hi, y'all.

Sigh.  It's been a while since we talked, I guess. I just haven't felt like writing much lately. (Kevin is reading this over my shoulder and he just went, "or showering." I hate him. ARE YOU READING THIS STILL, KEVIN? I SAID I HATE YOU.  I REALLY MEAN IT.

Okay. He went into the other room. I bet you ten dollars to do drugs, even though I told him that was NOT ALLOWED ANYMORE. I didn't even know he could read. Or make jokes. Although I don't think that one was funny AND the reason I don't get to shower very often is because every time I leave the room my baby falls on his head and then the police come and HOW DID I GET IN SUCH A MESS?)

So I don't have very much time to talk to you because Jamie Lynn is only watching Sean Preston until she has to leave for some party at Cameron Diaz's house. She promised me she would slip Justin the security code to the main house here in Malibu just in case he wants to come over and see me or kill Kevin in a jealous rage even though I do not advocate murder but I think she is just humoring me because she also didn't say anything mean when I left the house with my thong and my bra hanging out the back of my top and if that wasn't a cry for help like Dr. Phil talks about I don't know what is.

Anyway. I'm having another baby. Even though I keep screwing up with this one and no one will help me figure out what I am supposed to be doing. I am NOT EVEN 24 YEARS OLD, Y'ALL. I need some HELP. I need some ADVICE. All everyone is doing is making fun of me for not knowing how to install a car seat, like have you ever tried to read the instructions for one of those things? I think they write them in some foreign language and then translate them back to American. And I am pretty sure that everyone drops a baby now and then -- SERIOUSLY -- because babies are squirmy and you know what? I wasn't even the one who DROPPED him, that was SOMEONE ELSE.  And I fired her and I don't know what else I am supposed to be doing and no one will help me with any of it and now I'm having another one and I am sure I will love it but I ONLY HAVE TWO ARMS.

And just between you and me, I was totally going to divorce him and then I found out I was all knocked up again, like HOW MAGIC IS HIS SPERMY STUFF? It's like RADIOACTIVATED or something.

But you should know that I am thinking about...things.

Because there are people who have babies with no husband, right? Like Meg Ryan has that cute Chinese baby now. And Angelina Jolie! She had TWO babies with no husband. And so does Sharon Stone and I am pretty sure that I am way smarter than Sharon Stone.  So I am not saying that I am going to DO ANYTHING like that, AT ALL, but I am saying that I am aware that OTHER PEOPLE do things like that ALL THE TIME. If you KNOW what I MEAN.

Do you know what I mean? I mean I am going to be saying POPOZAO to that freeloader before you know it and BOY IS HE GOING TO BE SORRY.

Letter of Fug: Part Forever

Okay, hi, y'all.

So, I'm finally out and about again, all right? I got sick of moping around the house, just wiping down the kitchen counters over and over and over again. I mean, there's only so many times you can clean up after your husband before you just want to rip the hairs right out of his head and the only thing that was keeping me from snatching that filthy man bald was watching my bootleg tape of Justin's dailies from that movie he's making where he has all the tattoos and I really didn't want my mama to catch me doing that again and also the tape is wearing out, so I thought I'd take a shower finally and go out to lunch:

I don't want to brag or anything, but I cleaned up better than you thought I would, didn't I? I know I did. See, I've been doing these Windsor Pilates tapes at night when I can't sleep while I'm waiting for Kevin to come back from the 24-hour recording studio ( I don't want to talk about his CD, so don't ask, because if I tried to say anything about the CD I might start laughing and then I would never stop and then I would probably start throwing up and I hate barfing). And I got my extensions taken out because Jamie Lynn said they looked cheap and you know I never used to think she knew what she was talking about, but then she got a 97 on her driver's test and now I think she might be kinda smart. So I look decent, right?

So that's all good and stuff, but the real reason that I'm writing this Letter of Truth is because I have to say something about this crazy statue of me:

I guess it's of me having Sean Preston and it's supposed to be pro-life or something, but OH MY GOD Y'ALL I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO EMBARRASSED ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY ALL LIFE. Stop looking at it, please, y'all. Seriously, please stop looking at it. Oh my God.

Okay.

Okay, first of all -- oh my God, I'm seriously so embarrased -- first of all, I don't know what's going on with that lion's head rug thingie, because for one thing, there weren't any rugs in the room where I had the baby and for another thing, if Cedars Sinai even HAD rugs, I really don't think they would be rugs with heads because don't you think that would scare the baby?

Are you still looking at that picture of that statue? Please stop looking at it. Oh my God, I can't believe this thing even exists in America. Shouldn't it be illegal to make a statue of some lady you don't know? I feel like it should be, especially if she is ALL NAKED IN IT, oh my God. Anyway, it's also totally, like, wrong because I had a Caesarean section with Sean (and could someone please explain to me what that has to do with the salad? Because who would name a salad after an operation? It's so weird.  But everything I ask my mother she just starts laughing and then she sighs real big and lights another cigarette). So, anyway, in addition to being GROSS and like a total VIOLATION of my CIVIL RIGHTS as an AMERICAN, it's also totally inaccurate, or whatever.

AND OH MY GOD I JUST HAD A TERRIBLE THOUGHT. WHAT IF JUSTIN SAW IT? Oh. Oh. OH GOD. God, I am so embarrassed, y'all. I really want to die. I just want to die. What is WRONG with PEOPLE? Who MAKES A STATUE OF SOMEONE ELSE HAVING THEIR BABY ON A CREEPY BEARSKIN RUG? I don't care if it's just a joke. It's disgusting and I am disgusted and also totally grossed out and if you look at that picture again I am removing your name from the Britney fan club mailing list and I will NOT put it back on. EVER.  EVER!

Okay. Okay. I'm going to lunch and I'm going to try really really hard not to slap or divorce Kevin today because you're supposed to stay together for the children even though I am pretty sure that's not going to work out either and I also am just waiting for my lawyer to call me back, and when she does, I am also going to see if I can sue that person who did that sculpture for like degradation of culture, or something, but listen, I MEAN IT about taking you off the mailing list if you keep looking at that statue. I WILL find out you looked at it and I WILL take you off the list and I will NOT unban you, EVER because you are DISGUSTING.

Okay. So, bye

Britney

Letter of Fug: Part Whatever

Oh. My. God. Y'all.

I just realized I meant to wear pants with this dress! Can you tell? Do I look crazy? I don't look too crazy, do I? When I left the house this morning my mother said something about a lampshade in a whorehouse or some such but all she does is mutter about stuff all day long anyway so I didn't know if she was talking about me or about an actual lampshade she wanted to buy from a whorehouse but the point is that I am a little worried about sitting down because this skirt is really short.

But ANYWAY, it's awfully nice to get out of that house because I swear to God all I do in that house is yell about things, like where is Kevin's wallet, and no he can't take my purse with him, and what happened to the money I gave him yesterday, and no he can't bring the baby with him to the 7-11 because what if he accidentally gives the baby a Slurpee because that might give the baby diabetes, and no I am not IMing Justin and even if I was he can't read what I said because he's functionally illegitimate anyway, or whatever that word is for not really being able to read. So it's nice to be out and about and I think Kevin does clean up real nice even if I secretly think he's turning out to be a total liability, which is what my manager called him this morning. And right after she said that she said that she didn't understand where this all came from anyway, and I told her that maybe she should have listened to me when I told her that I was so Lucky, I was a Star, but that I cried, cried, cried in my lonely heart and if there was nothing missing in my life, then why did my tears come at night, and she said she had no idea what I was talking about and I told her that it was a SONG I sang once and it was a big hit and then she said that she never paid that much attention and THEN I told her that she also should have listened to my song "Overprotected" which is all about how I was tired of people telling me what to do and this is why I keep saying that I don't know why everyone is so surprised I got married and had a baby because I've been trying to tell them all for YEARS that I was TIRED of not getting to EAT so THEY could make more MONEY and I SWEAR I HAVE JUST ABOUT HAD IT WITH EVERYONE I SEE EVERY DAY. Except Sean, because I could just eat up his cute little baby face.

So what I'm saying is: I'm glad to be out of the house, I wish I had worn pants, and I'm pretty sure that I'm going to fire everyone even my mom.

Letter of Fug: Oh My God Y'all, It's My BIRTHDAY!

Hey everybody! We haven't talked in SO LONG, but I finally got a sec to myself and thought I would send y'all a birthday card from me, even though it's my birthday today, so I'm not really sure why I'm writing you a letter but I did have to buy my own presents from Kevin this year, so I guess age 24 is all about sisters doing it for themselves. I mean, I think I am going to have to do everything myself this year. Is what I meant.

ANYWAY, like I said, I finally got a minute away from my sweet little baby Sean and that big stupid baby Kevin and I decided, I know what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna put on my pirate boots and my short little fur coat and get my fuzzy fur purse that my mom swears is just roadkill with straps, and go out and buy myself some stuff!

And along with all the stuff I went out and bought myself for my birthday today, I also got myself another birthday present and that is the house to myself for a while. It's just me and Sean and my mom and sometimes Jamie Lynn and also my staff and sometimes that cute gardner we have, and it is so so peaceful.  Yes, everyone, the rumors are true, I have asked Kevin to go elsewhere for a little while so he can FIGURE OUT WHAT HIS PROBLEM IS, but this is not some kind of Jessica Simpson/Nick Lachey thing, we are not getting divorced, and Kevin is totally not moving in with Nick and that USC football player person like the National Enquirer said. I am just giving him time to MISS ME and also to GET A GRIP and stop PARTYING ALL NIGHT WHEN HE HAS AN INFANT AT HOME, LIKE, GOD.

Yeah, so, I guess what happened was that last week, I bought the baby to the Peninsula and I actually seriously had lunch with Justin (so he could meet the baby and also my new boobs, oh yes, I said it) and oh my god, don't tell anyone, but he is still SO CUTE and I sort of think I might still be in love with him but I am scared to say that aloud, but seriously, how can he really be happy with that skinny crackhead Cameron Diaz? I mean, for one thing, she is OLD, but anyway, he told me really really seriously that he thought I was better off without Kevin and I thought about it and I thought about it and I realized that Justin is right because Kevin totally doesn't even care about what happens in our family, like he just laughed that I time I thought the dog was having her brother's babies and I can't be with a man who doesn't understand that incest is wrong. Plus he keeps taking money out of my purse. So for my birthday I decided I should choose myself, just like Kelly Taylor, and see how that feels for once and you know what? SO FAR I LIKE IT.

So happy birthday to ME, Kevin. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW.

And if you think I'm giving you any of my money, YOU ARE WRONG.

LOVE,

BRITNEY!

Letter of Fug: Oh My GOD, Y'all, Now I'm a Mom!

Oh my God, y'all, it's been way too long since like we talked and stuff! But I have had my hands full with being all huge and pregnant because it turns out that being pregnant is actually sort of uncomfortable and even though I thought I would be all glowing and stuff the whole time, I actually mostly just had to pee a lot and then I had, like, this really big fight with my mom because she told me I looked broad as a barn, or something, which I think is just mean, because the Chillatos I was drinking were for her GRANDSON, hello, and then Kevin was just I don't even know where half the time, but all that's over now because I had the baby and now I'm back out at the Coffee Bean!

Okay, now, just wait a second. I know the pants are way too long. I know, I know, I know. They are. But I am a NEW MOTHER and I don't have time to be all running out to Demin Doctors or whatever to get my jeans hemmed up. I am BRINGING UP A CHILD. I am INVESTING IN THE FUTURE OF AMERICA THROUGH THE CHILDREN, or something. I don't have time for TAILORS and stuff. But other than that, seriously, don't you think I actually look pretty good, I mean, considering? I mean, didn't you sort of suspect that I might just totally start showing up places wearing like a muu-muu and one of those old lady rain hats made out of old plastic bags and chain-smoking or something? Like I would just decide that I was totally going to just give up on all that exercising they used to make me do and start living on, you know, fiery Cheetos and Jolt?  Okay, but listen, listen -- didn't you also think I was going to name the baby, like, Marlboro Milkshake Spears or something lame like that? DIDN'T YOU? I KNOW you did. And I DIDN'T. I DIDN'T. I named him SEAN. Like a NORMAL PERSON. See, I can be a TOTALLY NORMAL PERSON even though I have all these people with cameras following me around and my husband won't stop drinking Pabst straight out of the tap, like would it kill him to use a cup or something? Between you and me, and please seriously don't mention this to the Star or anything, he is really starting to get on my nerves. First of all, he was smoking a cigar to celebrate having the baby and that's totally fine but he actually lit the cigar with a two dollar bill that he set on fire and I told him that we don't have enough money to actually DO THAT and then he told me that a two dollar bill WASN'T REAL MONEY and then I actually had to take him to the McDonald's and buy some McNuggets with one before he would believe me that it was and honestly I am getting a little tired of his behavior and I am thinking about taking the baby and a couple of the nannies and getting in the car and going to Justin's and just throwing myself on his mercy because he totally can't turn down a girl who has a baby because that would just be mean.

And Kevin and my mother can just fend for themselves. See how they like it when I'm not even around anymore. Here's a hint: THEY WON'T.

Letter of Fug: K Fed Continues To Attempt To Speak

Yo, bitches. K-Fizzle here.

I just snuck out of the house to pick up some shit at the mini-mart while Whatshername is home sticking Oreos in our new deep-fryer. [Dude, that's not a eupha...eupharm...something clean you say when you mean something dirty. Seriously, it's like she's sticking something into that deep fryer all damn day long. Something about craving something and batter being good for the baby? Whatever. I don't know. All I know is how good my baby batter is. AW YEAHS, BITCHES, I SAID IT. Heh.  Heh. Dude, after my record drops I am totally going to get a gig at the Stand-Up Club or whatever that place Pauly Shore runs is called, because I TOTALLY CRACK MY SHIT UP.]

Yeah, anyway, I just ran out to get some water and some Cheetos and some beef jerky and some ice cream sandwiches and a couple of Twinkies and then I had to run by my dealer's house because B said she didn't want him to deliver my shit anymore because he was "a bad influence on the baby," or some shit, and then I was like, (a) the baby isn't even OUT yet, (2) it's not like he was a bad influence on all those other kids I have, I'm pretty sure, but then she said some BULLSHIT about not paying for it anymore and then, dude, I swear to God, she reached for my hand and TRIED TO PUT IT IN THE DEEP FRYER and, man, HORMONES, dude, dial it DOWN. So I ran out to give her some time to chill. She has been seriously so crabby ever since she caught me going through the safe.

Anyway, I'm trying and shit. I feel like I should at least try and stick it out for the kid, for a little while. And because she's been whining about my shoes for like the last SIX MONTHS, like, I will tie my shoes if I FEEL LIKE IT, bitch, I finally decided to shut her up and got a new pair. Check it:

Stylish AND functional, right? I love how it makes it look like I've got camel toe ON MY FEET. Heh. God, that's weird. It's like I'm a woman from the ankle down. Well, two women. Who have five legs inside their pants....well, three legs in one pant leg and two in....because of my actual toes...shit, now my head hurts.  Analogies or whatever are fucking hard. But look how clean my socks are! Right out of the plastic bag, bitches. Ain't nothing too good for me now. As long as I can find my dealer's house and Her Majesty don't stick the manpris in the deep fryer, nothing can touch me, you know?

Peace izzle,

K-Fed

Letter of Fug: The Scrolldown

Hi y'all!

It's been so long, y'all! But I've been so busy, you know, with, like, growing the baby, and making that TV show thingie that Kevin and I did about how I talked him into marrying me even though my parents really hated him and that was fun. I have to point out, first of all, y'all, that I look awfully happy, don't I? Isn't my skin nice? Wouldn't you saying I'm glowing or something?

And look at my belly -- I mean, my bump! Look at my bump! I have a bump and my bump has a BABY in it! A real little person with little nails and little toes and other little body part things. I want everyone to see my bump because my bump proves that Kevin loves me and not just my money even though he also thinks that my money is pretty fucking sweet, which is what he said to me this morning while he was rummaging through my purse looking for my checkbook. He's so cute. Did you see how he told me he loved me on the finale of our TV show thingie? I cried and cried, y'all. Do you think Cameron Diaz ever leaves special little notes to her boyfriend WHOSE NAME I HAVE FORGOTTEN at the end of her stupid show about traveling the world or whatever? Because I bet she doesn't and even if she does, I bet she has to write them herself while Kevin actually got my mom to write what he said to me. Isn't that romantic? They both really love me. My mom even told me that she's praying to God every night that this baby gets my looks which I think is really sweet since that must mean she thinks I'm pretty. She also told Jamie Lynn that she's trying to get Kevin deported, which totally surprised me because I never even told her how much Kevin likes boats. Although when I told Jamie Lynn that she just looked at me funny, but I don't really think Jamie Lynn knows anything that's going on anyway.

AND I just bought these great cowboy boots because nothing is more comfortable when you've got swollen ankles than cowboy boots. So basically things are totally great right now! And if someone maybe bought a billboard outside the bedroom window of a boy I'll call "Mustin Fimberlake" that saws "I WIN,"  then that someone wouldn't be totally wrong about the winning, don't you think? And I also think that if I were him I would probably want to call me to find out if I was the person who bought the billboard, though, and then maybe I would ask me if I wanted to go to lunch and then maybe I would adopt my baby and take me to Capri for the summer but YOU DIDN'T HEAR THAT FROM ME and shit, Kevin's home. Gotta go. Bye!

Post-It of Fug

What are all y'all looking at?

Haven't y'all ever seen a pregnant lady wear a tablecloth to the video store? Jeez.

Letter of Fug: K Fed Speaks

Yo bitches. Cletus McK-Fed here.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I know, a’ight? But she really wanted a damn baby and the bitch who signs the checks gots the power, you know? It was all blah blah baby blah blah baby blah blah fertile blahedy blah something about Justin blah. Damn, I just got tired of hearing it, you know? And I thought if she had a baby and shut up already, maybe she’d stop buying so many damn dogs. Did you hear that bullshit about the incest puppies? Christ. I told her a thousand damn times that the dogs aren’t fucking related and that even if they were, who gives a shit? They’re fucking dogs dude, and her whining about it was totally harshing my buzz. And then she started crying again and shit, and, dudes, I just COULD NOT TAKE IT anymore. So I hit her with El Spermination. Maybe this will keep her busy for a while so I can take off to Vegas with my BOYZ. [Big ups to Fresno! Yeah yeah!]

On the DL, I gots to admit, dude: I am kinda proud of my swimmers, you know? I am FEE-IRTLE. [Or FED-IRTLE? Heh. Heh. Heh. God. I’m good.] Who KNOWS how many babies I got in this town? Hells, I’ve tapped A LOT of ladies between here and the Nevada border. I know I gave that one chick the syph, but who knows what else I been giving ‘em, if you know what I mean and I mean mini-Feds. I’m making myself a damn basketball team, dude. Maybe we can go on the road and get away from Loudmouth over there.

Dudes, she’s starting whining about my clothes. Yeah. She’s all in a muumuu and shit and she’s crying that my shoes are untied and my manpris are all tore up and why can’t I dress like a grown-up and DAMN BITCH, my manpris are all tore up because your damn dogs keep trying to bite me and end up coming away with the hem of my pants, bitch. Thank God I buy XXXL. Damn.

And then she made me get these damn hair extensions because she was tired of people calling me “90210” and then we saw a rerun of You Got Served on STARS and she was all up in my grill about how hot I look with hair and shit and what the hell else am I supposed to do? She changed the PIN on our ATM card AGAIN and not to 1234 this time. So I gots to get the hair until I figure that shit out and I can blow town again.

A’ight. I gots to get out of here. I’ve got like seven child support payments to mail before the 15th.

Late.

K Fed

Letter of Fug: Y'all, I'm So Tired

Hi, y’all. Sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked, but I have had a lot of stuff on my plate, you know? Like, a lot. I am just so exhausted. Seriously. Look at me:

I just don’t even have the energy to even, like, brush my hair anymore, you know? My mom used to do it for me when my arms were too tired from dancing, but she’s real mad at me right now. She said something the other night about my “passive-aggressive acting out,” and I don’t really know what that means but it doesn’t sound very nice and she slammed the door after she said it so I know she’s mad.

I had a real bad weekend, people. Okay, so I’ve been really really busy fighting all the false tabloids. Writing angry letters is really tiring, first of all, because I have to keep getting up and going to the dictionary, but it’s totally worth it because it’s a cause I really believe in. I mean, I am so tired of reading about how I’m all pregnant and Kevin is all going to Vegas and whooping it up while I’m stuck in this stupid condo throwing up while those guys are painting our house in Malibu and I don’t even like that house. I mean, I AM pregnant and Kevin IS running off to Vegas and drinking with those trampy-ass strippers and I swear to God if I catch him touching one of them I’m going to snatch him bald but I really don’t know how they know any of that except for that ONE phone conversation I had with that one girl who works for the Star.

Anyway. So I’ve been doing that. And then we came to the Miramont for the weekend and I was getting ready to go to brunch with Jamie Lynne and I was putting on my jeans and they don’t even fit anymore because I’m getting so fat from this baby and then I just started to cry because I didn’t have anything else to wear and I couldn’t find Kevin because he told me he couldn’t listen to my voice for one more minute and then he left the suite and went and got his own room – using my credit card because I am beginning to think that he’s just with me for my money and let me tell you I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT -- but I really wanted some bacon so I had to put on this stupid muumuu that Jamie had bought in the gift shoppe as a gift for our grandma and then we went into brunch and I couldn’t stop crying and I could barely eat my hot links.

And you’d think that would be all the bad things that would happen to me but no, then I found out that Bit Bit is PREGNANT and the Puppy Daddy is MY BROTHER BRYAN’S DOG. That is INCEST, y’all. INCEST is totally wrong and gross, which I have learned from watching Passions recently, and also from the Bible and stuff.  What am I supposed to do? My dog can’t have an incest baby, but I can’t get the dog an abortion but what if her puppies have two heads or little fish gills or something? That is NOT RIGHT. I don’t have TIME to deal with INCEST PUPPIES. I have A LOT GOING ON.  I am fighting the false tabloids and I am trying to help Kevin make an album although HE IS NO JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE and I am NOT just talking about SINGING but you didn’t hear that from me. I am ALSO trying to create a warm and loving womb for my fetus, like I read in some book about babies and stuff, and I am ALSO trying to quit Red Bull because it’s bad for the baby AND I caught Kevin stealing money from my purse the other day and I am beginning to regret even marrying him because for one thing LOOK AT HIS PANTS and also I don’t understand why he won’t tie his shoes even though I used to think that was cute, it’s starting to REALLY BOTHER ME because he LOOKS LIKE AN IDIOT and also HE KEEPS TRIPPING AND I REALLY REALLY THINK MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE MARRIED HIM PLEASE PLEASE CALL ME JUSTIN PLEASE.

God. I am so tired. I can’t even handle any of this anymore. I’m just going to take a nap after I call the bank and change my ATM PIN so Kevin doesn’t take off to TJ again. Last time he didn’t even bring me any Percocet. I am beginning to think maybe he is not really a very thoughtful person.

Fuglie-Lynn Spears

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Hi y'all! It is, like, so exciting to be at an event on my OWN, for once, without Britney -- she's taking the dogs to Mystic Tan -- or my mama, who's at home reading the pre-nup over and over again. She hasn't put that thing down in months! Something about "ratfaced pimpbag"...? Maybe? Is that by Louis Vuitton? I don't know! But she loves purses, so maybe. Mama doesn't tell me anything, mostly because she's always off in the corner rocking back and forth and moaning, and when I try to get her to watch my show, Zoey 101, she just mutters the words "chastity belt" and then starts to cry while she chants something about dirty moneygrubbing pig-ignorance. Maybe she doesn't like my manager?

Anyway, I did get some styling tips from Britney, though, before I came. Like my hair. She told me to dye it brown because then you don't have to wash it as often, and that way, you can not bother with the shower until you can smell yourself without even having to stick your nose in your armpit. That's her system. She really loves the environment, and is trying to save water, and stuff. Then she helped me add the wrinkles to my shirt and pants, because ironing is so last millennium. When she stepped all over my pants it left them with this really cool uneven-hem look, which I love. And she told me not to worry about standing up straight, because only boring people do that, and anyway, if you slouch then you're closer to, like, the fans, and stuff.

And then she let me borrow this jacket she made out of one of the baby blankets she's stocked up on. Kevin ripped it up one night before he disappeared for Las Vegas again, so while Brit was cleansing her system with vodka -- she told me that disinfects your organs better than one of those colonic thingies -- she turned the blanket into a little coat for BitBit, but it didn't fit. So I get it.

She's going to be the best mom! Especially because she doesn't sit alone in corners rocking back and forth.

Letter of Fug: Cletus Speaks

Yo, bitches. K Fed here. Some of you call me Cletus. That's a'ight. Listen, Meal Ticket over there made me pose for the cover of fucking Details magazine, dude.  She was all like, "blah blah hot, blah blah not a skeezebucket blah blah something something something." Like I listen. Anyway, check it:

[photo via the always juicy and delicious PageSixSixSix, and the divine Stereogum]

Dude.  I know.  When B saw it, she was all, something about me looking fucking sensitive, or some shit? Something about showing Justin something about her winning something? I don't even know, dude. I just tune out, yo. Wake and bake and tune the fuck out.

The thing is, dude, those bitches at Details? No clue how to appeal to the ladies, right? When you're on the prowl, dude, the facial hair has got to go. Get it all clean-shaven. All David Fucking "You Are So Precious To Me" Silver up in here. The ladies are gaging for D. Silver, dudes. Gagging. You got to get the grease all out of your hair. You got to look all so fresh and so clean.  You got to borrow a puppy from someone but not a little rat ass puppy like this one, like a MAN puppy like a retriever or some shit so you look all wholesome and responsible and shit. Girls love that. Maybe hang out with a baby, too. I told them I should be holding a baby in this picture, but they said something about not wanting to remind people that I was a "serial impregnator" or something? I don't even know what that means, but I told them I didn't have a criminal record except for that one time they got me for possession. But this is so not the look you use when it's time to get your van rocking, if you know what I mean. I look like a serial killer, yo. I look like I'm about to snap that rat puppy's neck and, hells yeah, I hate that dog but I'm not a dog killer, dude. I just lock them in their room and pretend they're not there. One day, I'm going to do that to Britney, too. HAHAHHAHA. I'm just kidding. Not really. Nah, I'm just messing with you. No, I'm not. No, really I am.

Anyway, B has this cover all framed and hung up in her "office" (which is where we keep the weed. I'm a professional toker, dude. Heh. Wouldn't it be rad if that was really a job? I'm qualified. HAHAHAH. Heh. Heh. Where was I?) but I'm going to hide it as soon as she goes out to the pool because seriously? I know. I know. It's retardo. I know.  It's going to totally salt my game, yo. Dude, just because I'm ringed up right now doesn't mean my shot clock has expired and shit, if you know what I mean. I mean, seriously, I just hope Paris Hilton doesn't see this because as soon as I've got B knocked up, P is next. Watch out, Paris, because Cletus is checking into the Hilton. Heh heh. God, I'm funny.

Aw, Christ. B is yelling at me. We're out of Cheetos. Gotta run, dude. Seriously, though, come by sometime. We've got a ton of good shit here. I have a bitchin' Playstation and we've got Pabst on TAP, dude. It's sweet.

Outtie,

Big Ups to Fresno!

Cletus AKA K Fed

Happy Fugging Holidays: Letter of Fug III

Oh my God, you guys, merry Christmas! Happy Ch -- Han --- Chaan -- yeah, I totally can't spell that, y'all. The one with the candles and the potato pancakes like they serve at Arby's? Happy that! And Happpy New Year!

I just can't wait to see what happens in 2005, because I bet it will totally involve me having a little baby and then Cletus will love me forever for reals because when you have a baby with a lady you are not allowed to leave her, except for when that happened with Shar, but that's totally different because of how Shar wouldn't let Cletus do things that were really important to him, like how he's researching the medical effects of marijuana on his glaucoma.

I know you are totally wondering why I look so happy in my furry hat and the truth is that I am happy because my furry hat is actually kind of cute but I am really mostly happy because I am thinking about my awesome New Years resolutions, which totally rock, y'all. My New Years resolutions are to have a little baby and also to stay out of the way of the Fug Girls because they are really not very nice to me even I know they say what they do because they want the best for me and they're worried that I got worms from walking into public restrooms barefoot but what they don't know is that public restrooms are really very clean. But anyway I have two whole weeks to wear WHATEVER I WANT because Go Fug Yourself is going on Winter Holiday Hiatus until January 3rd and I am TOTALLY going to walk around barefoot with my thong hanging out and I'm not going to wash my hair or wash my face or brush my teeth for TWO WHOLE WEEKS because there's NOTHING THEY CAN DO ABOUT IT HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

LOVE,

BRITNEY!

[Editorial note: if Britney does anything just mind-bogglingly godawful and terribly alarming, like get married again, we'll be on the case. Otherwise, dear readers, have a wonderful holiday and a fantastic New Year. Thank you for your readership and remarkable support of us this year, and we'll see you in 2005! Love, Heather and Jessica]

Billboard Awards: Letter of Fug Part II

Hi y'all!

It's Britney again! I know we just talked and all, but I totally wanted to show that, seriously, y'all, I can totally clean up good. See?

Photo courtesy Daily Celeb

Let's not even talk about how fine my hubby is. He is so,so fine. I have to tell you a secret, though: I totally miss his shorts, y'all. That patch of skin between where Kevvie's tube socks end and his frayed, cut-off manpris begin is so hot! I want to lick it! Yummy! But doesn't he look totally hot in that hat? It's kind of like this hat that Justin used to wear someti -- I mean, never mind. Never mind. I never said that, y'all. Anyway, I totally wanted Kevvie to wear these formal manpris I made for him last week by taking this pair of tuxedo pants that Justin left here once back when we where still together that I refused to give back to him and cutting off the bottom of them so they would be all frayed but my mother said no and I was like, blah blah blah Mom, I'm totally married now and if I want my husband to wear Justin's old tuxedo pants as cutoffs to an awards show I TOTALLY CAN but then she distracted me with this shiny Christmas tree ornament we got from Walmart last week and grabbed the tuxedopris from me and threw them in the fireplace which is TOTALLY NO FAIR, but whatever, he looks hot in the suit ANYWAY.

But let's talk about my outfit because it is so totally cute. When the salesgirl at the Dress Barn told me that I looked like a lampshade, I knew I had to have it. Also, when I was getting ready and Jamie Lynne was helping me and brushing my hair -- and she brushed it really, really hard, y'all, I almost cried -- and she told me I looked like a refugee from a Third World road tour of the Ice Capades, I knew it was the right choice for tonight because Jamie really loves ice skating. Then she said something about how at least my hair doesn't look like I brushed it with a Mix Master and I totally don't know what that means but I am pretty sure it was nice.

Seriously, though, don't Kevin and I look super happy together? They took this picture right after I told him that one of my Christmas presents to him was the joint checking account he was asking for, so he could write ME checks of love just like I write for him. Isn't that the sweetest? I can't wait until Justin Timberlake and that skinny, cracked out ho he's running around with see how happy I am! With my HUSBAND! HAHAHAH JUSTIN I WIN. Even though I still love you. I mean, I love NOT BEING WITH YOU.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Y'ALL!

The Letter of Fug

Hi, y'all! I'm Britney Spears!

Y'all, Kevin and I went to the pet story to get Laci a little jacket because it's so cold out and I heard that this pet store in Malibu sold little "Rock Out With Your Cock Out" hats for dogs and I thought that might be cute too, you know, because that would match my fine hubby's hat and it's so cute when doggies match their daddies but when we got there there was just so much to choose from I just couldn't decide! I was so confused that all my hair just stood right up on top of my head, y'all!

What was I talking about again? Oh right. Y'all keep talking about how I look crummy when I leave the house but that is totally unfair y'all. Y'all, I am in love. I am married now! I am a married lady! This is how I look, for reals, y'all. I don't have to brush my hair for Kevin. I don't even have to take a shower for Kevin! He told me that I have to do is keep signing the checks...of LOVE. Y'all it is such a relief to not have to shower or brush my hair or wear make-up or make any kind of effort of any kind at all anymore. I am just so comfortable with Kevin and the baby we are making together, currently located in my uterus, which is also unwashed. Oops, did I say that? I guess I did it again. I just can't keep it secret! I can't wait to shop for clothing for little Kevney or Britven, y'all. Y'all, I would actually really like to have twins like Julia Roberts and name them Kevney Cheetos Federline and Britven Red Bull Federline and then Kevney Cheetos and Britven Red Bull and Kevvie and me and maybe my mom Lynne and maybe also my sister Jamie Lynn even though she hasn't called me back in like three weeks can all just live together here in my big house in Malibu with our dogs and also maybe with some of those kids Kevin has with that other lady and we can just sit around and watch movies and I can make a roast and my mother will wash our cars for us because she likes to do that and then I will never have to brush my hair again and no one will care because I will be a married lady with babies and that means I am a GROWN-UP and no one will make me dance with a snake ever ever again.

Except maybe for Justin. I might dance with a snake maybe if Justin asked but DON'T TELL ANYONE I SAID THAT.

LOVE,

BRITNEY!

Britney Fugerline

This photo was sent by an eagle-eyed reader:

Why is Britney shrieking?

a) She's looking in a mirror
b) Something, somewhere, is itching and burning
c) She found the greatest onesie for her future spawn that has "I'm Jailbait (But This Is An Old Jumper)" emblazoned on it.
d) She just caught sight of the wedding ring on her finger and has awoken to what she and her life have jointly become
e) She is realizing that she passed a dumpster on the way into the store without even stopping to dive in and see if anybody threw out any snacks, or perfectly good unbroken condoms that can be re-rolled for reuse.
f) Wouldn't you be, if you were Britney?

Her Fug Prerogative

Britney's got a new single coming out, the cover of Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" that's attached to her Greatest Hits album -- the premature appearance of which suggests that nobody really believes wholeheartedly that she'll have a "great" hit ever again, so they might as well strike while the Frito Pie is still hot.

As such, it's nice to see Britney already thinking ahead about her future, and turning to alternate sources of income -- specifically, what one can only assume is preparation for a gig as a Clearasil spokeswoman:

It's like she rubbed her chin in Crisco, which might well be close to the truth if she was anywhere near the loins of her new husband.

Zits are tough. And what's a girl to do when she can't find her legendary wrinkled cut-offs, probably because they're wadded up on the balcony underneath a pile of empty Colt 45 bottles, three used condoms, and a spittoon?

Why, she turns to her very best distressed grass-stained pants, that's what:

And for good measure, she gets a gigantic Coke stain on her shirt.

I can't wait for The Best Letter I've, Like, Totally Ever Written, Y'All, because I'm eagerly anticipating the chapter wherein she explains her apparently unquellable impulse to communicate through bawdy t-shirts and trucker hats. "Carpe Assum -- Seize the Ass," her hat proclaims. Okay, Brit. We get it. You're edgy. You're nobody's princess. Neither am I anyone's princess, yet I still find time to clean my clothes, wash my hair, and actively not wear trucker hats with "clever" messages on them. Why don't you give me a call? I can show you how.

[Photos courtesy of Lime-light.org and an eagle-eyed reader.]

My Prerogifug

Britney Spears is so right. I am sorry that I don't have what she has. To wit:

What girl doesn't dream of a marrying a David Silver lookalike who actually purchases -- and wears! In public! -- a trucker cap that reads "Rock Out With Your Cock Out"?

I think I speak for all of humanity when I beg you, Kevin, to put the cock away.

Mr and Mrs Fugin Fugerline

How embarrassing! In all the excitment surrounding the preparations for her maybe fake wedding to self-proclaimed "pimp" Kevin Federline, Britney forgot to wash and comb her hair! How totally ugh to look so greasy and unkempt in People Magazine!

The less said about the trashy "November Rain"-inspired wedding mini the better. Although I'm sure Axl Rose, who's clearly, like, living at an EconoLodge in Los Banos right now, reading People and eating chicken off of Buckethead's...bucket...is probably wondering how he can get some people again, so he can have them call Britney's people and arrange a meeting.

Go Fug Yourself Special Weekend Edition: Nice Day for a Fug Wedding

So, Britney Spears went ahead and married Cletus. In Studio City. And then served chicken fingers afterwards. While playing music from a boombox. I can only hope the happy couple toasted one another with Red Bull and then tossed Cheetos into the other's gaping maw.

So classy. So delightful. I am so in love with the downward spiral of Ms Spears.

But I am the most in love with these outfits, provided for the groomsman, Cletus's merry band of brothers.

Yes, they are white track suits. Yes, they say "Pimps" on the back, in black cursive script [because cursive = classy]. Because, when it comes to pledging lifelong love and fidelity to a man, what little girl doesn't dream of pledging said love and fidelity to a man who has the option of trading her vagina for money?

True love, people. True love. My heart is so full right now.

Oops, She Fugged It Again

A reader sent a link to the following photo that proves, to the shock of a nation, that Britney Spears is continuing to dress like a flaming -- yet, like, totally, spiritual and stuff -- assrag:

She looks like a cast member of Police Academy 8: Asshats On Parade, in which the gang reunites to recruit drunk prostitutes into the force, train them, and then turn them back out into society as clean, productive police officers who arrest people for sartorial crimes. [Prediction: Britney's character learns she's worth something more than a Big Grab bag of Cheetos, which is what her pimp traded her to the cops for, and Steve Guttenberg earns Oscar buzz for a surprisingly sensitive return to the franchise as the man who teaches Britney that she is safe now, and can turn her back on horizontal stripes.]

The Kaballah people need to revise their ancient teachings very quickly to include a heretofore lost, yet sacred, scissors ceremony in which the red string is clipped from the wrists of people who only wear it because Madonna does. That, or it needs to add a chapter entitled, "It Is A Sin To Think That Wearing Double The Headgear Will Protect You When You Are Smote From On High."

Incidentally, if anyone's in need of a good celestial smiting, it's Britney. If taking a whizzing asteroid or some other object of divine scorn to the head doesn't knock some sense into her and make her take out the white trash from the dumpster that her vagina's become… then, well, nothing will.

I'm A Slave For Fug

Ma! Billy Ray! Break out the Cheetos and the Two-Buck Chuck, ya heah, 'cuz Cousin-Aunt Britney done near outfugged herself:

Look, Brit, there are some things so easy that even a female Ralph Wiggum like yourself can figure them out. Like underpants. THEY GO UNDER THINGS. Like, say, YOUR PANTS. Underwear is not meant to wrap around your thigh -- it's meant to leave something about your pubic grooming to the imagination -- and it's not meant as a protective measure so that you can wear fugly loose-fitting clothes that fall off your soiled ass, yet not worry about the paparazzi snapping a picture of your (wilted, dying) flower. And see those seams halfway down your shirt? Those are supposed to be BELOW your breasts, not riding so far up above one of them that you're fixin' to get put into some kind of cotton chokehold.

Finally, for the love of god, BRUSH YOUR HAIR.

That is all.

For now.

In The Fug

Full Disclosure: here at Go Fug Yourself, we love Britney Spears. We love dancing around to her peppy pop music whilst singing into hairbrushes and wiggling our firm and well-shaped underwear-clad asses, we love making fun of her acting skillz in Crossroads, and we love, love, love witnessing her current downward spiral.

Who would have guessed that sweet little Britters would end up engaged to a manpri-wearing, jaunty-trucker-hat-sporting, skeevy David Silver look-a-like back-up dancer? It's fantastic! Less fantastic is her slide into the fug: the Cheetos addiction, her apparent distain for hair product, the way she seemingly has stopped washing her face. This is a cry for help far more serious than her impending marriage to Cletus. I mean, look at her:

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?