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A little B.S.
Brett Lamb expanded a bit on Lynn Crosbie's
article in the Globe and Mail on the Britney Spears-madonna Kiss.

I went back to Crosbie's article to read her hilarious deconstruction of Spears's fall from the ranks of the glitteratti. Crosbie traces the decline to the MTV awards synthetic sexual moment of the year, the Madonna-Britney tongue kiss, a kiss that Madonna shrewishly dubbed "repulsive" because the nervous "oops I did it again" star apparently had bad breath.

Conversely, "I should imagine kissing Madge is like having your head swallowed by an anaconda" Crosbie quips. "Madonna kissed her the way Michael Corleone kissed his brother Fredo: It was an explicit display of Sicilian vengeance, and Spears's body, at the time, appeared to crumple in both submission and dismay."

Lamb wonders if Britney is destined to become the Charo of the naughts (is that what we are calling this decade? could we reach a consensus here, please?). Which reminds me of my old theory about the Vagina Monologues as the Love Boat of our times. A place where washed-up stars can have one last, fake climax before sucked back into the abyss of has-beens.

You heard it from me: Britney Spear stars in the Vagina Monologues. A friendly wager, anyone?

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