I’ve had quite a few challenges in my distinguished career, like the time I diffused an unforeseen fracas between Neo-Nazis and the Jews who hate them, or when I consumed an entire chicken during one commercial break. But this tops them all. Britney has relationship, substance abuse, parenting, weight and singing issues. All of them! On my show we only deal with one, maybe two of these categories at a time.
You must understand I didn’t “ambush Britney’s hospital room” to steal the headlines or any gobbledyjunk like that. I went because if I could fix Britney, I would instantly become the greatest pop-psychologist ever. Greater than Montel. Greater than Donahue. And yes, even greater than Sinbad.
When I arrived in Britney’s room, I found her in a rather dire state. Now it would violate the ethics of my profession to go into detail about my visit, as well as threaten her delicate, overexposed psyche. But I will say this – girl is kookier than bat shit on a Scientologist.
She kept talking about how her boobs felt wet and that my head could be a bowling ball if certain cosmic circumstances had aligned differently. I finally decided not to go ahead with the shit show and broadcast Britney tomorrow on my daily shit show citing the situation was to “intense”. But really I’m scared to death of that broad. She’d probably urinate all over the set and spin her head like a pixie wheel around her neck.
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