You don’t actually give a shit about Britney Spears’ health. Admit it.
“Now, now,” you say. “Her descent into drug abuse and mental breakdown is a fascinating case study in the tribulations of fame. But it’s tragic, and we shouldn’t forget the human being underneath. And her children.”
Fuck you. You are a liar. You don’t give a shit about this latest celebrity burnout. Why would you? You don’t know her, she’s fucking rich, she can’t sing and she probably can’t even read. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, per se, and not that she hasn’t made some good songs. But you don’t actually care at all. You know you should care because that is a human being, so we are continually told. Yes, this sack of flesh in a wig and stupid sunglasses who has done nothing but stupid human tricks since childhood has to be human. And so we’re supposed to care.
But you don’t give a shit. You don’t care about her kids either; they’re destined for spoiled-rich-celebrity-idiocy and they always were. Fuck her kids. Fuck Britney. But most of all, fuck you.