It's so passe to talk about anything to do with Britney Spears. She can take a dump on the front lawn of the white house on live TV and it would still be considered uncool to talk about. That's because the notion of Ms Spears being a complete nipple has been well established.

That said, this 55 hour marriage thing does need to be addressed. so everyone shut up for a second.

I've used my amazing, Genghis-Psychic powers to see into the future of Britney Spears.

And folks, it's not pretty.

It seems this is episode one in what will be a long, drawn out decline in child star hell.

In five years time our gal Spears will go from pop star queen, to having her mugshot all over The Smoking Gun's webpage for attempting to fill a fake prescription.

Her days are numbered. Trust me.

And what pisses me off the most, is she has the nerve to insult our intellegence by saying she wasn't drunk at the time of said wedding.

She was drunker than a Hell's Angel at a Motorhead concert.

You can take the girl out of Louisiana, doll her up all nice, but you put a few Pabst Blue Ribbons in a Vegas hotel room with her and a few hours later she's gonna be marrying somebody with her tits hanging out. It a mathmatical fact.

They say the guy she married was a childhood friend from Louisianna. Well I bet if they did a DNA test we'd find a little cousin between the two of them. Again, that's the Pabst Blue Ribbon.

It appears the boys over at Pabst adds just the right amount of yeast and barley, any more or any less and you get a different outcome, but the amount they use causes the consumer to want to marry one's cousin.

The sterotype that southerner's marry their cousin's comes from the fact that they drink more Pabst than us northerners. It's not the fact that they're redneck, goatfuckers. Seriously, it's the beer.

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