Another day, another trip to the psych ward for Britney! Last night Brit Brit was carted off via ambulance once again. She's now at the UCLA Med Center where, if there is a God, Dr. Drew will rescue her from herself (because he is absolutely the only one capable of curing this breed of crazy). She's supposedly on another 72-hour hold, but considering she was back on the streets drinking Frapps and using her "British" accent after about 2 days last time, I'm not counting on this to be a full stay either. I'd love to say I still have that tiny shred of hope that she'll turn it all around and make a comeback, but I think my hopeful spirit has effectively been crushed, spit on, set on fire, and doused with Red Bulls and Cheeto powder. Thank you Britney for viciously and brutally killing my inner child. Bitch.
In more Dr. Drew-related news, Celebrity Rehab is on tonight, and that makes Thursday worth living through. If only for another fleeting glimpse at Drew in a t-shirt. The last time he wore one, it seemed to snap Jeff Conaway out of his drug-induced stupor. Such is the power of Drew's alarming biceps.
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