Lose custody in four easy steps!

(I really should just designate a damn Britney category, shouldn't I?) Remember last month, when Brit-n-Shit split up and he filed for custody of their two kids? Remember how we all laughed and said, 'Oh, right! Like any judge is going to award custody to your scraggly ass!'

It's not looking like such a sure thing anymore, is it?

(Pics snagged from ohnotheydidnt, except where noted.)

I've said before that I wonder if Britney is deliberately trying to lose custody of her kids so she won't have to bother with raising them. If that is, in fact, the case, she's following a near-perfect game plan for raising questions about the stability of her environment. The only thing missing is an explosion from a meth lab tucked into a downstairs bathroom.

Step 1: Make a public show of partying night after night for weeks on end with pointless socialite. Bonus points for losing pants!

We've been through this before, but the partying hasn't stopped, nor have the incomprehensible wardrobe choices. Behold this outfit from last week:

I'm not sure which is worse: that it looks like she's wearing a bra from the back (to the apparent horror of the dude in the foreground) or that it looks like she's wearing a series of tracks as a necklace from the front.

Here's another Great Moment in Decision-Making from about 10 days ago:

Let's see... open bar, check. One straining button standing between you and toplessness, check. Skirt tied up to panty line, check. And -- is that a cigarillo? I'm trying to imagine standing near someone dressed like this at a party. I'm not sure I could stop myself from asking if she'd like a sweater, or maybe a pair of pants, or possibly another party somewhere else. There's just something so aggressively trashy about this look. It wants you to shake your head with concern.

Step 2: Flash the world, repeatedly.

I'm not saying that becoming a mother makes you nonsexual; far from it. But the repeated, obviously deliberate cooter flashes seem to be less an expression of sexual liberation and more a cry for help with a pathetic touch of "fuck you" to The Man mixed in. The world is now joking about Britney Spears' vulva. That's not right.

(Yes, that's Emily the Disapproving Rein-Cat. Needless to say, she does not approve of Britney's antics.)

Step 3: Make a play for sympathy about how these damn kids won't leave you alone.

This strange announcement was posted on Britney's Web site. It's a bizarre cross between an apology for her recent behavior and a rationalization for it. "It's been so long since I was out on the town with friends. It's also been 2 years since I've even celebrated my birthday." For starters, there are plenty of pictures of Britney celebrating both her recent birthdays, so that's just flat-out false. But the whining about not being able to go out recently? I picture a nation of new parents giving Britney the finger and saying "Welcome to parenting, dumb-ass."

According to the New York Post's Page Six, Britney has been telling her friends, "I gave birth for two and a half years, and now I want to party." That quote, if true, makes me wonder two things:

1. How much does Britney understand about human biology? She was pregnant for a total of 18 months, but she had Cesareans for both her births, making the actual time spent in delivery pretty minimal.
2. How much does Britney understand about parenting? From what I've heard, giving birth is the easy part. The real work starts after they've toweled off the afterbirth, and yes, your partying time will definitely drop off for the next 10 years or so. That's the trade-off you made on purpose when you decided to have kids.

I get the feeling that Britney wants to return to 1998, when she had a career (a sleazy, talentless career based on pandering to some really gross urges, but a career nonetheless), a future, the envy of pubescent girls everywhere, and a dreamy boy on her arm.

Step 4: Take up with a new dude immediately, ideally one with a pre-Cro-Magnon jaw and brow ridge.

No, that's not a Gotti, although it's perfectly logical to think that, what with the jacket festooned with diamonds and dollar signs. That is J.R. Rotem, purported record producer, who squired Britney around town last week while she was a brunette and made out with her at an outdoor table. I'm not sure if they're still dating -- he seems like a famewhore of the worst variety -- but the lack of judgment shown by Britney to even be seen with this dude's tongue down her throat during a custody dispute boggles my mind.

Damn, she sure does have a type these days, doesn't she? I strongly suspect that while Rotem's MySpace page was loading the logo for his "Beluga Heights" (hee hee!!) production company, it was also trying to locate my credit card information. He does seem to love that awful jacket, doesn't he.

And what of Fed-Ex? Here's where I have to give him a slow clap, 'cause that little scrub is working the "responsible loving dad" angle something fierce. While Britney's skanking up the clubs, K-Fed takes his kids (the first set, anyway) to Disneyland. I hate-hate-hate to say it, but: well played, ferret-face. 

And I'm not the only one starting to wonder if maybe I picked the wrong horse to back in this custody race. Britney went to a Lakers game on Monday; when her face was shown on the Jumbotron, fans booed -- then cheered at a shot of K-Fed. Of course, none of this may mean anything in a court of family law, but Britney seems to be losing in the court of public opinion, and I'm pretty sure that's the only one she cares about.

So I hope this is what she wants.

Comments

[sudiegirl]

That's kind of like choosing between Charles Manson and the Unabomber, isn't it?

[Anton]

Kudos to you for saying 'vulva' instead of 'vagina'. But then again, you're smart, and a woman, so you'd know. ;-)

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why do you cover her vagina