Wednesday, November 8, 2006
I Hear Your Cries America!
I know it hurts, and I know a great many of you awoke this morning gripped with fear as one chilling question danced its icy way around inside your heads and hearts:
Where do we go from here?
Unfortunately, I have no answers for you. And, sadly, all I see upon the horizon are dark clouds and a troubled time of vast, soul-crushing uncertainty. Indeed, no one can plumb the depths of humanity deep enough to answer the burning question we need so as to find the direction that we, as a species, desperate crave.
This will be a stark and difficult world in light of the demise of Britney and K-Fed. Alas, nothing gold can stay, and though I am reasonably certain Britney will fair quite well, and this collapsed marriage will simply be yet another easily erased blemish, I find myself thinking of the poor, talentless, little scamp that is K-Fed. Indeed, what will K-Fed do? As far as I know, most heiresses are either out of his league, or off the proverbial market. Paris Hilton, after all, spends her post-clubbing evenings scraping things like K-Fed off the bottom of her Manolos, and Lindsay Lohan wouldn't give him the time of day so long as he doesn't have a wedding ring on his finger.
K-Fed gave hope to the insolvent, indigent masses who, in the face of gainful employment rose up and shouted "I will marry me a sugar mama!" rather than fill out a W2. And, when the razor-sharp claws of domesticity and fatherhood began to close tightly around his throat, K-Fed bravely found the first jet to Vegas to regroup with his homeys, a pile of chips and a whole lot of strippers.
Now, America, where do we go? Will it be K-Fed the politician? K-Fed the back-up dancer for Barry Manilow? Will he wind up in the Hasselhof Army? Or, will we see K-Fed the "Gimme your damn bus pass beyotch!"
I wish I had the answer. However, one thing's for certain: If you think the McCartney demise is a nasty endeavor, well, Sorry England. We are totally going to upstage you all once again.