Judge Scott Gordon has ruled that Britney Spears must undergo random drug and alcohol tests to see if she's fit to be a mother. If her last, glassy-eyed, painful-to-watch performance is any indication, there's more than a good chance that she will fail those tests, leaving her two children in the sole custody of ex-husband Kevin Federline. To be honest, I'm psyched because I really feel like I'm finally a part of a pop star's meltdown. I was born in the late eighties, so I really only caught the tail end of Michael Jackson's Mutant Train to Sodomy Town, and I wasn't really old enough for him to be a relevant figure when I was growing up. His transformation didn't really register with me because the only Jackson I knew was Crazy Jackson. But Britney? Man, I remember when she was the c**k of the god damn walk. I was never a fan, but growing up I certainly understood that she was a Pop Star. She was a super huge deal. I loved watching her go from Untouchable Superstar to Sinead O'VaginaOnDisplay in record time. Maybe it's a generational thing, I don't know. Some people watched Elvis go from super-sexy to fat-sexy and eventually to dead-on-a-toilet-sexy. Some people saw the slow transition from a black superstar to a white pedarest. Me, I got to watch the innocent school girl shave her head and transform into the Weekly World News's Bat Child. When I watched her bounce around on stage at the VMA's, like a big hunk of ham in black underwear, I thought "This has got to be the low point." But now a judge is making her take a drug test to find out if she's as responsible as Kevin Federline. To really drive this point home, I'd like to close things out by quoting Federline's "America's Most Hated" off of 2006's Playing With Fire:
So I duck and roll Middle fingers still up sayin' f**k the globe And my dawgs still down We dont trust them hoes I live life like a King I was extra stoned Kevin Federline
Everybody loves a good old-fashioned meltdown.
Many of today's celebrities have some real surprises in their family trees.
Our bodies are changing.
Fictional love triangles are always a rigged game.