I don’t get it. Britney Spears descends from the rafters looking like Prince Fielder trying to fit into last year’s jersey, lip-synchs some of her hit songs, and walks Mario Lopez around on a leash, then collects $20 million? Jesus, Britney, what do you get when you gobble down sweets? She couldn’t hit the elliptical for a couple weeks before opening night? It didn’t matter to the screaming planted fans like drunk Miley Cyrus who went batshit crazy in the front row. I guess the sight of ass-fat and constrictive girdles triggers spasms in Miley’s frontal lobe where God intended her learning to be.
It’s hard to imagine this goes on for two more years. At some point, they’re going to have to lower the stage because even fifteen feet above sea level might be the oxygen balance breaker for Britney. Maybe you get a free spin at roulette if you’re there the night Britney has her first cardiac incident. Somebody’s getting buried in the desert over this. If it’s Britney, they better bring the Caterpillar.
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