One of the saddest things about Mildly Somnolent and Her Raging Nonesuch is she prolly thinks she’s transgressive, mayhap even original.
Madonna did it 30 years ago. Figure 15 more for Britney’s turn. Now it’s 15 again. See Ecclesiastes for explanatory of this clockwork snore —
Least Madonna had her wee bit of savoir faire, and she’s lasted into her 80s. Or maybe it just seems so.
By Britney’s moment it was mere savvy, and not much. Only we who knew of her then know of her now.
Can’t even use personal pronouns for Ms. Cyrus — her smarts, her time — ‘cuz she’s so damn derivative.
She will get old and fat and gone. Another few years, another few pounds, and … See Ecclesiastes again for how to read that fact —
The level of underachieving in being more than a minor distraction from preseason football — a low bar to leap, you’ll agree — can be summed up by a t-shirt — also now quite dated — whereon a retro (!) suburban gray flannel man informs us, Why yes, I am very gangsta.
Cry us a river. She’s sadder than the last 10 minutes of Old Yeller, and at least that was about a dog.
We’re the Dormouse in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Poke us with sticks, lest we die of boring.
And speaking of mice, no way does Disney give a rip. That’s the nature of faceless corporate monoliths. Duh. They made their money off her, and now she’s getting a bit of her own dosh, and imagining she’s poking them in the eye.
I bet the costumes people even assured her it was a statement to have a mouse on her bustier.
Even if the mouse did look a lot more like Chuck E. Cheese than Mickey.
“It’s a metaphor! Fight the power! Stick it to the Man … err … Mouse!”
And if you plan to appear in public in your underwear, grow a pair.