Britney Spears, aka Hindu love goddess
What’s hilarious has not been the wedding itself, but the resulting outrage, featuring a tsunami of moralists and mentors who are more than happy to represent whatever mindset it is that passes for the American norm these days. Of course, they’re all shocko de mucho at Britney’s wild ways and reckless behavior (“Egads! Instant marriage as a larky strategy for fighting off boredom on a Saturday night in Vegas? What a plummet from the summit for the queen of super-taut tumminess!”), and the Vegas wedding biz is likewise stunned (doesn’t Britney understand that Reverend Elvis isn’t clowning around up there!) and, well, just what was she thinking?
Now hold on a second here. Britney Spears just happens to be young, gorgeous, sexy, rich and apparently seething with a whole passel of itchy little hormones. Why wouldn’t she be out on the town and crazing it up on a regular basis? Why wouldn’t she be positively knockin’ the boots off a different rock star every month? As long as she remembers to take her limo every night (don’t need no accidents), take her pills every day (ditto), and stuffs that handbag full of condiments, well, I believe the phrase is “you go, girl!” (And don’t worry too much about Vegas’ hurt feelings.)
When Britney hits Vegas, I like to think she hits town as a dazzling modern incarnation of a Hindu love goddess, her slender, bubbly curves and her eight busy arms decorated with an irresistible array of jeweled baubles. And inside her irresistibly alluring 5-foot-5-inch temple of giggles, she harbors an insatiable appetite for raw man-flesh, an appetite that begins to sizzle in the early evening after she consumes her nightly load of naughty Cosmopolitans, the preferred powerful pink potion that puts the perfect buzz in her blond belfry. Thus prepped, she then begins her nightly feast, lining up suitor after suitor outside her lavish suite for inspection by her devoted staff, accepting each of the approved in succession, charming them, flirting them, seducing them, wheeling them, dealing them, and ultimately, draining them of the bold yang force that she so desperately desires. Then, with a girlish growl, the triumphant Shiva-Britney rolls the spent lug off the huge circular red bed, depositing another of her “dates” on the floor with a thump, where they slowly pile up during the course of the night, sprawled and splayed, dozing and done. Meanwhile, the ever-hungry young goddess, glistening now with the musky heat of her deliciously sowed oats, leeringly motions for yet another rippled stripling to enter her lair.
Yes, well, I’m sure Brit will be just fine, and boy is it nice having a new subscription to Penthouse Forum.