I am going to kill Britney Spears. You are going to kill Britney Spears. We, the people, are going to kill Britney Spears. And not even in a second degree sort of way. This will be a good old fashioned pre-meditated American media murder. We’re going to kill this bitch.
Where else is this story going? What better ending is there? How could it get any worse? Britney’s got to die, or it’s just going to start getting sad. And no one wants that. We want it to stay fun, bazaar, astonishing, crazy, awful. We don’t want it to get downright depressing.
Everyone likes watching a train wreck. No one likes watching a wrecked train go drearily by, choo-chooing in endless circles, with no passengers, no destination, and no chance of ever getting off the rusty tracks. What’s to talk about with that? That would be boring.
We like climax. A tit popping out. A kid in the back-seat during a car chase. A Youtube socking. Any sort of public shaming, that’s what we love. And we’ve gotten more than our fair share from Brit. What could she possibly have left in the tank?
The joke is over and the crime is now beginning. We’ve wrung her out of everything wet and juicy. We took a tender ripe fruit and squeezed it until we found a decrepit pit. We’ve taken her kids, her career, her looks, her body, her hair. We’ve taken her dignity, her status, her integrity, pictures of her pussy. We’ve gotten our laughs, our shocks, our jollies, our copies of In Touch and OK! All that’s left is her life.
At first she was in on it. She thought it was funny too. She was committing public suicide and laughing right along with us. She loved the idea of destroying her image. She was putting on quite a show. It was a wild time for everyone.
Now it’s just mean. Now it’s just murder. Is anyone rooting for her any more? Is anyone on her side? Does anyone care? Or are we just waiting for the next debacle, the next disaster, the next not near enough death experience?
Wouldn’t it be awesome if Britney died? Man, it would be crazy. Anna who? Diana who? Marilyn who? It’s Britney bitch. It would be such a big deal. Just huge. Magazine sales would go through the roof for at least two weeks. Entertainment Tonight would stay on until tomorrow. Access Hollywood would blow its load before it could make it to commercial break. Even CNN would celebrate.
Little girls would be crying. Big girls would be bawling. Average girls would be running around the streets wondering how this world could be so cruel. Teenage boys would tear down posters. Tall boys would fall to their knees. Twenty year old boys who like twenty year old boys would be listening to Toxic and sobbing their hearts out.
Mothers would be comforting daughters. Fathers turning their backs on sons. Sisters and brothers calling each other just to say I love you. Politicians would have to address their constituencies. Local leaders would have to console their communities. Bosses would have to grant a day off to their companies. It would be a national travesty.
It would be epic. The day that Britney died. Everyone would remember right where they were when they first heard the news. They’ll tell the story to their grand-children, great-grandchildren, and so-so grandchildren. They’ll be books written about it, songs sung about it, movies made about it, and a web-page devoted to different theories about it.
When it comes to celebrity in America we’ve got a flair for the dramatic. We want ‘em to live fast, die young, and leave a telegenic corpse. Otherwise, we will tear them apart, and bury them piece by piece. Just like what we’ve begun with Britney. And, it’s only a matter of time before we really finish her off. So why wait? To watch her suffer that much more? To sell another two days of tabloids? To get a couple of more late-night jokes?
The truth is we owe it to her to kill her. It would be a crime of compassion. The execution of her will for living. A societal euthanization. The right thing to do. And best of all every one of us can help. Even me and you.
