Toxic

My Britney Disaster Meltdown Radar has been on high alert all day, and I'm thinking of seeking refuge in my emergency shelter in case this is the big one. You know it's not a good day when you wake up to Perez Hilton's report of Britney's alleged THIRD pregnancy. Granted, the source is the questionable yet disgustingly fabulous (and CHEAP!) In Touch Weekly, but I wouldn't put it past America's favorite Cheetos and Redbull endorser. Trying to block out that morning shocker, I then read reports of Brit Brit wandering into the Hustler Club in West Hollywood (perhaps I know of a Russian grandma that may have spotted her? They like to hang out in that part of town too, FYI) and doing the unthinkable. You thought the exiting-the-car crotch shot was icky, but Britney just won't settle for automobile-related disregard for hygiene alone. No, no - she reportedly stripped off her own skivvies (so she does own some!) to try on some classy booty shorts that proudly proclaimed (inaccurately) "Barely Legal" across the back. Did I mention she did this in the middle of the store? In front of 15 people? Oh, and then she tried to walk out with some other fine merchandise but was forced to pay. But before she left with all the dignity and class of an elegant gazelle, she stole a wig from one of the mannequins. She later donned the wig, hopped on board the crazy plane and piloted it all the way to Rainbow Lollipop Town where she enjoyed a long and fruitful reign as their pill-popping queen.

Now I'm thoroughly depressed. But not for long because my stories are on tonight, and nothing makes me happier than my stories. Parissa, Tyra, and Heidi - oh my! And while I never consciously intend to watch Gossip Girl, it always sucks me in, and before I know it, an hour of my life has been sacrificed to the prettiest boy around - Chace Crawford (no offense, Zac Efron). Dammit - I just IMDB'd him and discovered he was born in 1985 - life as a Cougar, here I come!