Dear Britney,
Your relentless pursuit of the spotlight won’t allow us a moment of rest. You’re like that chatty, annoying know-it-all we get stuck sitting next to on a 22-hour trans-Atlantic flight to Papua New Guinea who won’t let us fall asleep, thereby forcing us to make subtle stabs at our jugular with the complementary airline pen. The blood marks on the Sky Mall catalogue are simply collateral damage.
Your self-engineered ubiquity attacks our senses like a jackhammer to the temple. Or what we imagine a threesome with Joan and Melissa Rivers to be.
Your continued habit of releasing crappy music assaults our aural sensibilities (“If U Seek Amy”? How about “If U Seek Vincent Van Gogh Tell Him To Call With Detailed Instructions On How To Slice Our Ears Off”?).
Your ability to earn more money than many small countries yet STILL remain poor white trailer trash is nothing short of magical. I’d go so far to say you are the Criss Angel of suck. No wait, Criss Angel is the Criss Angel of suck. You are the Some-Magician-We-Actually-Like of suck.
You are so addicted to public attention I’d expect you to attend the opening of a manhole cover.
The next time you have a day off, please don’t:
• shave your head
• marry an oaf
• have any contact with Paris Hilton
• stumble drunk out of a car
• flash your beaver in public
• give your sister life advice
• launch another freakin’ perfume, or
• accidentally spike your baby’s formula with Maker’s Mark
Do you realize that choosing Madonna as a role model makes us hate you more because we hate Madonna MORE than you?
And we hear you have a ghostwriter for your Twitter. What, it’s too difficult for you to type “I 4got my kids’ names again…LOL”?
How can we miss you, if you never go away?
Britney Spears…you are our least favorite person today.
With Love (and hate),
Takeout Magazine
p.s. If you feel the need to date any Dominican baseball players in 20 years just make sure you do it somewhere far, far away from here. Maybe Papua New Guinea. They might even have a Kaballah temple by then.




