There’s a New Babe in Town…

Britney Spears used to be so hot. Remember when she was first starting out? Her handlers would release pictures of young Britney dressed in short-skirted Catholic schoolgirl uniforms, sucking her fingers, posing provocatively in her bedroom with teddy bears… so innocent and yet so naughty. She was every pervert’s dream. Oh, yeah, she could sing too.

All of Britney’s handlers, managers, producers, songwriters, dance choreographers, publicists, etc., were the best in the business. She surrounded herself with people who knew what they were doing. She listened to them and took their advice. Britney just kept getting hotter and hotter. Eventually she publically admitted that she was no longer a virgin; Britney declared that she liked sex, and even added that she was “good at it.” Her overheated sexuality culminated in her Los Vegas performance, a concert I will never forget.

Then the bubble burst. Britney, like all girls, was programmed from birth to get married and make babies. To this end, Britney distanced herself from all of the professionals who had made her so successful. Almost immediately, she made a long series of disappointing choices. She chose Kevin Federline to sire her children, and even married the gold-digging fool. She got fat. She got hooked on drugs. She shaved her head. She stopped wearing panties. She slurped on Madonna. She broke up with Federline by sending him a text message. She crashed her Mercedes into other people’s cars. She started screwing her bodyguards and the paparazzi men who were following her around. She went in and out of rehab treatment centers. She first learned that her little sister was pregnant when the reporters asked her to comment on it. Britney did everything she could to prove that you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl.





I could bear it no more. Disillusioned, I took down my Britney posters. I scraped the Britney stickers off my cars and boats. Years passed. Her alleged “comebacks” proved to the world that she would never again be our fantasy girl.  I became depressed.

Then, in the summer of 2008, everything changed. I was relaxing in my lawn chair at a Tim McGraw concert, minding my own business, waiting for the show to start. Suddenly this little blond sprite strutted onto the stage in white cowgirl boots, wearing the shortest green silk dress imaginable. Her name was Taylor Swift, and I was captivated. With my mouth open and my tongue hanging out I watched her prance around, dance, play her guitar, beat on drums… she was amazing.

Taylor is different than Britney. Her wholesome image isn’t a product as astute producers and skillful handlers. Taylor is grounded and special and real. She lives at home with both parents, whom she loves and respects. She isn’t interested in humping Jon Bon Jovi, Eddie Van Halen, or any of her bodyguards. Taylor isn’t into drinking, drugs, and head-shaving… she even wears underwear. No piercings, no tattoos, no self-destructive behavior. Taylor’s the kind of girlfriend you could bring home to hang out with your daughter… just make sure you get her back by midnight or you’ll have to deal with her dad.

At the age of 18, Taylor won her first Grammy. When was asked how it felt to have won such a high honor, Taylor replied that “it was the highlight of my senior year.” How cute is that? See what I mean? Taylor is everything that Britney used to be, and more. Watch her on stage singing “Pour Some Sugar on Me” with Def Leppard, just for fun:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSaAXDBvfho





See how she walks? See that unbelievably sexy short silk dress? That’s her trademark. So young, so beautiful, so innocent and yet so naughty. She’s every pervert’s dream. Oh, yeah, she can sing too…

Jackhammer