I’m joking, I’m joking, so sit on a Cool Ranch Cheeto (do they make that???) and spare your CAPS LOCK key.
In her recent performances on Good Morning America and Jimmy Kimmel Live!, Brit Brit Spears moved like her feet were stuck in a giant pot of Velveeta grits that Daddy Spears forgot to stir. Hard grit feet is what I like to call it. But in the first of two videos for “Till the World Ends” (which is a prequel, sequel or somethingquel to “I’m A Slave For Chu“), Brit Brit actually dances like her limbs aren’t made of frozen Slim Jims. Yes, I’m playing nice, but only because every time I pour a cup of cuntilizer on the Louisiana trailer park weed flower, a Starbucks barista drops a spit ball into my Venti Frapp. Contrary to what’s written on the men’s bathroom wall of the Walt Whitman rest stop on the NJ Turnpike, I can only swallow so many random person spit balls in one sitting.
Just like in “I’m A Slave For You,” a bunch of lubed up, greased down hot dancers thump their bodies like they’ve got imaginary defibrillator pads pressed against their chests while Brit Brit whips her weave around. But instead of taking place in an abandoned Thai whorehouse, this shit goes down in John Travolta’s underground end-of-the-world Scientology bunker (complete with black leather and Crisco-covered man nipples). This video would make so much more sense if it was John Travolta in that red catsuit bumpin’ his crotch in the middle of a bunch of caramel dipped Twinkies. Maybe Brit is saving that for the second version.
And Ke$ha DID have to co-write this song. I swear, that Garbage Pail Puta is like a herp wart on my ear drums. The more I try to scratch it out, the bigger and oozier it gets.