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It's 11:30 p.m., and I'm half-drunk. I need to get completely hammered by midnight so that I can effectively pass out and awake by 6 a.m. I will thus have six hours of sleep and be able to write a 3-page essay before my 10 a.m. class.
Drunk logic rules!
Britney has "privately admitted" that she is less than eight weeks pregnant, according to Australia's Herald Sun. I can only assume it is with Kevin's child.
Sources say she is merely staging a fake pregnancy to steer off the media and that her "bump" is just a denim fannypack full of Fritos and lip gloss. [via]
And it might pay for Britney to listen to Gwen's new single, in which she warbles prophetically, "What are you waiting for, you stupid ho?" [via]
In other news, I may have unintentionally had sex with a street hustler. I'll elaborate later. Or not.
Someone claims to possess a "Britney Spears Discarded Cheetos Wrapper" and is selling it on eBay.
The bag is still lined with cheeto dust, probably the same dust that clung to Brit's moist fingers as she munched on her favorite snack!
Which reminds me! I have an empty pack of Marlboro Lights that I picked up off the sidewalk after spotting Mrs. F. toss it from her balcony. Seriously, I swear. In fact, there's, like, seven more scattered throughout my apartment, at least. Any takers?
(Thanks, Andy!)
They threw a party at the restaurant last night. A sea of suits and bowties and pearls and tasteful hemlines.
A guy at the bar asked me what was going on.
"Is there a funeral back there or something?"
I laughed.
"Nope. Just the College Republicans."
And that, my friends, is why I am not a gay Republican.
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In other, less disturbing news, a bodyguard for Lil' Kim was sentenced to 12 years in prison.
Brace yourself for a mindfuck:
George Bush. Singing John Lennon's "Imagine." Mashed with Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side."
Catchier than "My Prerogative," that's for sure.
(Thanks, RX!)
Next thing you know, they'll be reporting that Britney can't actually sing and that Kev isn't really a celebrity.
Agatha sez: "I think I'm addicted to having a bottle of Andre (cheap-ass $3.99 sparkling wine) every night."
Translation: "I have a drinking problem."
Her rebuttal: "I don't have a problem with my drinking. You're the one who has the problem!"
A dark plague has descended upon my friends (all four of them!) and me like a swarm of disgruntled locusts — or, as it were, a swarm of contagious airborne pathogens. The cause of this debilitating menace? Stress, perhaps. We have all been working so diligently at school, at internship and at underpaid extracurricular job. The strain of such reckless productivity has materialized into a melee of coughs, sniffles and scratchy throats. Woe is the overworked college student!
Or, it's because we get fucked up every night on cheap sparkling wine and Yuengling. Ow, my immune system hurts.
Dear Toby,
Russell's wrong. I actually chuckled out loud when I read it. And I was alone.
I think it's probably only funny to people with a really elementary sense of humor, but I fall into that category, so it works.
Thanks for your blog, it's fascinating and often hilarious. I've been reading it for about a year, ever since you started the BritneyWatch prior to her last album's release.
I think you should add mp3s to your blog. The world needs a place where it can get cheesy pop downloads of the Britney/Halliwell variety.
Also, I for one miss the comments, but I suppose I can see why you decided not to have them anymore.
Thanks,
Sully
I dig the bottomless Inbox of compliments, but enough already! It only serves to encourage me. <3
• Dr. and Mrs. Kevin Federline
• The Rev. and Mrs. Kevin Federline
• Sen. and Mrs. Kevin Federline
• Lt. Col. and Mrs. Kevin Federline
• Rabbi and Mrs. Kevin Federline
Russell says: "This doesn't pass anyone's standard for funny, let alone yours. OK, run with it. Anything to get my name in the blog."
What's tackier than a buffet of chicken fingers and ribs, white velour tracksuits with "Pimp" embroidered on the back, and the unabashed blasting of Journey's "City by the Bay" from a boombox?
Really, really bad puns.
• Britney weds one more time
• Hitch me baby one more time, says Britney
• She did it again -- Britney Spears marries in surprise ceremony
• Britney Spears marries, again
• The Bride of Federline
• Britney Goes Bridal, One More Time
• Say cheese-y! Brit gets hitched
And, inexplicably...
• Do you tacky this woman?
If you are a blogger living in Washington, D.C., then PLEASE send me an e-mail. I have to write a story for my Advanced Reporting class.
And I'll send you a naughty picture as reward.
www.livejournal.com/users/olivegarden
www.olivegarden.edu
www.olivegarden.gov
www.olivegarden.it
www.outback.com
Russell says: "Try olivegarden.com!" Thanks, Russell. Thank you.
I saw him a few days ago at the (now-infamous) GLBTA political forum. Awkward, overweight, flaming. Like all the other gay freshmen, really.
But, hark! Just yesterday I spotted him on the quad, sporting a labret piercing! How cool. It really gives him a much-needed “edge,” which, frankly, was missing from his previous incarnation as a limp-wristed oaf. Now he’s a limp-wristed oaf with a fishhook in his face!
You know, you’ve really some nerve to assume that, after obtaining a labret piercing, you can still troll around campus in last year’s Old Navy. Itching for a rebellious post-high school graduation image makeover? Then invest in some running shoes and hit the gym, Madonna. Even with an $80 hunk of scrap metal poking out of your chin, you aren’t getting any thinner, and the standard of physical perfection to which gay men hold themselves isn’t getting any less ridiculous.
Augh. Just take the damn thing out. You look like a clown.
Say hello the next time we run into each other at the gym.
As if you needed a reason.
Brit released the official track list of her curiously titled “Greatest Hits,” due without warrant on Nov. 19.
Track 1: 'My Prerogative'
Track 2: 'Toxic'
Track 3: 'I'm a Slave 4 U'
Track 4: 'Oops! ... I Did It Again'
Track 5: 'Me Against the Music'
Track 6: 'Stronger'
Track 7: 'Everytime'
Track 8: '... Baby One More Time'
Track 9: '(You Drive Me) Crazy' (The Stop Remix)
Track 10: 'Boys'
Track 11: 'Sometimes'
Track 12: 'Overprotected' (The Darkchild Remix)
Track 13: 'Lucky'
Track 14: 'Outrageous'
Track 15: 'Born To Make You Happy'
Track 16: 'I Love Rock n' Roll'
Track 17: 'I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet a Woman'
Track 18: '(I've Just Begun) Having My Fun'
Track 19: 'Do Somethin''
“… Baby One More Time” is Britney’s only single to have made it to No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100. Of the other “greatest hits,” only “Crazy,” “Oops” and “Toxic” reached the top 10. (How the monster ballad “I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet a Woman” – a song that, in my opinion, defined a generation – escaped this distinction is beyond me. The injustice!)
And lastly, an alleged still from the "My Prerogative" video:
I think I might be a gay Republican.
The GLBTA organization brought to campus this evening Dave Noble, executive director of the National Stonewall Democrats, and Christopher Barron, political director of the Log Cabin Republicans and hottie. I was pleased to see the conference room was full — granted, full of butch lesbians and awkward, unkempt fags. But still, strength in numbers! (It's no surprise I stood out as prime. Har, har.)
Eager to draw attention to myself, I raised my hand enthusiastically and was eventually selected to ask the third question of the evening. "Hi! My name is Toby! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the deliberate outing of politicians and their staff!" It was the best I could come up with. But I sure sound like I read the news, don't I?
Dave the Democrat answered first. Sort of. He began by saying he's against outing the little people behind non-GLBTA issues — for instance, a legislative assistant who keeps mostly to environment issues. But what about those in power? The ones who make big decisions? They should be outed, according to Dave. He seemed very passionate about this. Sure, it's a double standard, but he's a Democrat representing the political views of almost every gay and lesbian on campus, so how could he be wrong?
I didn't even consider the absurdity of Dave's answer until Chris the Republican took a shot at my question. He said he is against deliberate outings. Period.
Ah, the razor-sharp precision of his answer. So clear. So direct. So sexy.
I spent the remainder of the discussion envisioning Chris the Republican in full lumberjack regalia, constructing our log cabin love shack. Argh. I really need to get out more.
Hi, y'all. I'm sorry for not updating. And I'm also sorry for Lindsay Lohan's crappy new single. Sadly, I have no excuse for either of these misdeeds.
From this month's Glamour:
The last time I had sex, it was with a married man. No, not the kind of marriage the Washington Times would decorate with quotation marks. I'm talking real marriage. The man-and-woman kind.
Aren't I the dickens?
I was the worst kind of drunk last night. You know, the drunk who is so smashed that he thinks he's sober. So of course I try to do sober things when I return home from senior night at Front Page.
Like, reheat a pork chop.
Or smoke weed.
Or engage in civil AIM discourse.
All things end in a bitter away message and suddenly it's 10 a.m. Ow, my head.
Required reading for the dating type.
My ass was so sweaty that I slid off the toilet and onto the tile floor.
Ah, retroactive Bud mud. Always a crowd pleaser.
Some girl at a party tonight was grinding with a guy while talking on her cell phone. I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the Bud Light I was double-fisting.
I bought Stella Doro "Lady Stella" cookies today because they remind me of PTA meetings and parish socials.