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Let’s Get It On (The Richard Steele Version, Not the Marvin Gaye Version…Though Maybe It Sorta Is) February 17, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Pop Culture Rants.

There is no greater joy in the male psyche than running into the girl who broke your heart with one of the following occurrences:

1) A beautiful girl hanging on your arm, staring at you like you are the doppelganger of every male starlet, ready to devour you (Bonus points if she acts like a dead fish when you introduce them)

2) Completely enveloped in hundred dollar bills or utilizing any currency to light an expensive cigar (Swimming in a big money pit a la Scrooge McDuck is also just as good)

3) Wearing a purple heart (Earned or unearned)

These things never occur however. You usually see the ex-love of your life when you are wearing your laundry clothes, eating a supremely messy burrito from Chipolte and holding a copy of Juggs you swear you were getting because of a controversial study into the dildo’s effect on Third World economies.

And celebrities (if US Weekly is right…and they usually are…Did you see Night at the Museum? Crap and they gave it one star…so draw your own conclusions there…) are just like the rest of us. Hurt them and they cry into their bottles of imported herbal mate coffee drinks brewed in solid gold percolators. Cut them and they bleed (Blue blood sometimes, but it’s usually an off shade of red with tiny flecks of gold dust.) Scar them and they get Botox.

Since 1998, we have been treated to what could only be described as the greatest game of “I’m doing fine without you” one-upsmanship I have ever seen. And if the recent salvo is any indication, the next shot is GONNA BE HUGE!

What am I talking about?

The ongoing publicity (good or bad, but would I really be writing this if it were all birds, bees, flowers, trees) battle between Britney and Justin.

We shouldn’t be surprised that the strangely creepy minds at Disney gave this one to us. After meeting at the Mickey Mouse Club (or the MMC, for young kids with too many Teen Beat pictures to hang to be bothered with utilizing the whole five syllable name), the two became an item in 98. They were bubblegum pop’s answer to Charles and Di. They were Brangelina for tweeners. They were TomKat for people who were too intelligent to realize their blood is full of alien guts. They were the stars you wanted to see get together. And they did and we all smiled. The tabloids had a couple to plaster everywhere (thus thankfully stopping their attempts to make Andy Dick a megastar…dodged a bullet on that one) and it was good.

Then the breakup occurred. There were rumors of infidelity. There were rumors of jealousy. There were rumors Andy Dick was involved. Whatever the case, it ended. Was that the last of it? Hell to the N-O. In the immortal words of Richard Dawson (and sweaty Louie Anderson and the creepy guy from Home Improvement), it’s time to play the feud.

Justin fired first. His song Cry Me A River was a not-so veiled attempt at explaining the relationship as only he could: through androgynous high vocals and Michael Jackson style rump shaking. And for those who failed analysis on the SAT, he even cast a girl in the video that looked like Brit herself (Subtlety…thy name is Timberlake.)

Brit did have an album in the can, but no real way to wrestle the spotlight back on her. She tried dancing around like every business travelers dream (a sexy leather bound stewardess who made weird circular motions around her breast) but it was no use. She had to go bigger. And nothing gets the front page like unexpected Vegas Weddings (that or paternity suits involving record executives.) The pictures of Brit dressed in the outfit the  girl I took to m fraternity formal changed into after vomiting on her dress (ripped jeans, a sweatshirt and a sweaty ballcap) were everywhere. Bad mouth me, huh? Then I’ll just ruin my life in Vegas.

The ball was back in Justin’s court. How to get the press back? Why not date the biggest star in Hollywood at the time? (Remember this is before Cameron Diaz made The Holiday or In Her Shoes…so the statement fit.) Sure, she may look like what the Olsen twins would look like if hit with an alien growth ray, but she kept him front and center…

Brit went back to the drawing board. The wedding hubbub had worn off (partly because his name was Jason Alexander and having George Costanza mentioned in the same breath as you is akin to a Scarlet A). And how do you gain more press? That’s right…get married to the most disgusting, most unimportant speck you can find. Andy Dick is gay, so Brit went to K-Fed. Surely, pop’s princess and the guy who fills your tank at Exxon getting hitched blows JustCam out of the water. Point, Brit.

Yet Justin would not be denied. Why not get your publicity by flashing somebody else’s breast at the Super Bowl? Not only would he get instant flack for it, but the backlash of it would transcend genres. Now his name would be on the tongues of sports fans everywhere (not to mention frozen on ever Tivo screen from here to, well, everywhere.) Wardrobe Malfunctions beat Trailer Park Weddings faster than Rock Covers paper. Point, JT.

SO Britney fires back by getting pregnant. Not once, but twice. To think, there are millions of Americans who do not know a Democratic presidency and a non-knocked up Britney spears. Yet just having a child wasn’t enough. She needed to exhibit her parenting skills were only a slight touch above Joan Crawford. Perhaps she was auditioning her child for a Gerald Ford impersonation (she almost dropped her child more times than Mama Fratelli did to Sloth in The Goonies). And to cap it all off, she cried on national television, looking again like the girl like I took to formal did the next morning (bloodshot eyes and a whole bunch of bloating.)

How would Justin answer? He tried breaking into the movies (playing a tattooed gangster only gets you credit if you don’t have tattoos that looks like they were applied by a Sharpie.) But what would work best? That’s right. Release another album. And this time, coin a phrase so multigenerational, it wouldn’t even creep you out if our grandmother said it in passing. He brought Sexy back. And with that, he brought back the spotlight.

So Brit gets divorced…Justin has to break up with Cameron. Britney shows her crotch to the world…Justin puts his Dick in a Box…

Which brings us to now. Britney has, apparently to garner a role in the V for Vendetta sequel, shaved her head. She is also apparently trying to have Sinead O’Connor’s career in reverse (Hit music career, unspeakable controversy, then go bald). Now, crotches and dropped children are one thing. But unexplained sudden baldness? That’s enough spotlights to last at least until the summer.

SO, Justin, I guess the ball is in your court. We’re just getting good. For men everywhere, the response has to be huge. Bigger than Janet’s boobs. Bigger than bringing back the man perm. You owe us this one. SO start thinking. We’ll be waiting. Or at least I will be.



1. Lola - February 22, 2007


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