1. Marry a guy who’s only God-given ability is to wear hats that Sinatra would have referred to as “faggotty”. The guy in question should also have been previously married very unsuccessfully. This is key.
2. Make sure said spouse already has two kids from a previous marriage whom he never sees. Cause things will be different this time around, and the second time is always a charm. No wait… yes that’s right. The second time.
3. In the tradition of Posh Spice (Brooklyn) and Madonna (Lourdes), name said baby well before it is born and after a city you’ve been to once yet pretend to have a deep connection with. I have a bigger connection to London and can’t even fit into a half-shirt.
4. On the subject of half-shirts, since your career was basically founded on them, make sure that the eventual birth results in a cesarian section scar so enormous that Islamic fundamentalists begin to pray in front of it.
Yes, kids. My former imaginary girlfriend, Britney Spears, gave birth today. I’m not saying anything every other man, woman, child and dungbeetle on the planet isn’t also thinking today. When I moved back from England in 1999, Spears had just broken onto the scene and was poised to embark on a long and lucrative career. But she’s shat it away in a short year like an Arby’s roast beef sandwich which was eaten too fast and had horsie sauce all over it.
Even Madonna waited until she was 40 to pop out a sprog. You can be goddamn good and certain certain there was no need to give her a C-section. She could have easily given birth to a gas truck by that pont. She timed the pregnancy extremely well, though – as she’s happily married, pushing 50 and set for life with a long exciting career behind her. And at least one vagina.
But age 23? Kevin frigging Federline? Girl – you could have committed suicide. You could have been killed by overzealous paparazzi. You could have overdosed. Britney – I’m very disappointed in you. Because you see, Brit and I have this little arrangement. I provide her with wisdom and guidance – and in return she doesn’t know who the hell I am.
Actually, Madonna did have a C-section. And those scars are eeny-weeny now. Like an inch long or something. My appendix made a worse scar and I still wear bikinis. Your girlfriend will bounce back.
Nope. She’s officially off the fantasy wank list. Off the roster. An old shoe. A popsicle stick without the popsicle, as they say. No they don’t.
Pedophiles everywhere, though, are celebrating the emergence of lil sis Jamie Lynn