One of my dear readers recently pointed out the lack of coverage of a certain Toxic pop songstress's recent decision to nix her nuptials... I speak, of course, of the Gulf Coast's own Brit Spears and her pirouetting trainwreck of a "baby daddy," Kevin "I wanna be a singer too!" Federline.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart, dear readers, since the Hipster had a good relationship go bad right last week, right around the same time K-Fed got served (with divorce papers, that is... which, apparently, you can send by text-message nowadays). Like the Federale, I, too, lost my focus on the important things while concentrating on career-building; like him, I played the dirtbag card in one too many hands; and like him, I took the promise of a Camelot life and turned it into camel-flop.
But I hope to finish strong and redeem myself to my betrothed. Likewise, now is the time for everyone's favorite backup-dancing divorcee to be strong, especially for his babies!
So to you, K-to-tha-F-E-D, I say: Hang in there, big guy; whip out that tweed Kangol grandpa hat and that favorite sweat-stained tanktop. Take a walk outside the Speaderline compound and breathe in that crisp Malibu air. Get a great big tribute tattoo for your lady.
How about her initials, nice and big on you someplace?
(Think about it for a minute. It'll start to make sense.)
Oh, and remember: Work ain't the whole big anthill. Family matters.
As does literacy, in your case.
Also, if the situation gets dire, heed this irreverent advice from a certain California governor's fake blog.
And if that doesn't work, stuff yourself silly on some Pop Candy.
Talk now to your Hotmail contacts with Windows Live Messenger.