Spare Me!!

Shame on you Britney.

She’s spent all of about 28 days out of the spotlight and she’s already set up deals for a tell-all interview and book deal. Did she not get the memo that “rehab” does not equal “cure” or even “recovery”? Sometimes sobering up slows people down enough to become reflective, if only for a little while, which is what I’d hoped for for PsychoBrit, but no…

She’s just full-bore mania straight out of the gate. Before too long we’re going to be seeing her beave on the covers of all the tabloids again, and then she’ll be arrested for drunk driving with a kid in her lap. I’m putting my money down on these things occurring before she’s through with her Susan Powter phase.

Under normal circumstances, I could give less that a rat’s ass about Hollyweird bimbos and pop princesses, but whenever one goes totally over the cuckoo’s nest and lands in treatment my ears perk up a little. Recently in the U.S. there has been an emergent culture of REHAB. If you ever watch VH1 “where-are-they-now” shows, you know what I’m talking about. Seems like every hard rock legend has gone through treatment and retired into obscurity to live some semblance of normal family life—outside the occasional resuscitation tour, that is.

And if you think those VH1 programs get stale after a few hours, try living in the heart of the land of 10,000 treatment centers with slogans swirling around the heads of newcomers trying to make their lives work without the assistance of beer, booze, or designer chemistry. Forgive my obvious disdain and read it as resentment from a drunk who couldn’t afford treatment (and who’s family practically held an intervention to talk her out of AA), and I’m going through a dry-drunk phase to boot.

So, in conclusion, it is my observation that Britney has joined the ranks of the over-privileged multitude of on-again-off-again twentysomething alcoholic/drug addicts who can’t find anything more creative and productive to do with themselves once they quit the shit than act like total fuckin’ lunatics and burden us with the intimate details of their sordid lives.