Mr. Spears, get off the stage

My name's Fyre, and I have a confession to make.

I'm one of Paj's friends who did not see m'f'ing snakes on a m'f'ing plane this weekend.

Please forgive me. I know I've failed. It's shocking, it's horrible -- I've lost 10 points off my pop culture purity score. I didn't even see K-Fed's big TV debut -- and that was shocking and horrible too.

K-Fed told People magazine he was going for the "oh my God factor" with his performance at the Teen Choice Awards.

That would be the "oh my God, that was the worst piece of pseudo rap I've ever heard. Please, in the name of all that's holy, stab out my eyes and destroy my tortured ears" factor, right?



Let's break it down, shall we?

First, Britney, the queen of good taste and decorum, stops snapping her gum long enough to introduce "her man." Um Brit? Is your stylist blind? 'Cause you are really preggers and that dress is really ... brief.



I'm sure Sean Preston enjoys the easy access and all, but damn! You're gonna put someone's eye out with those things!

On to the show ...

Yeah, yeah, put your hands together ... little kids dancing ... someone playing piano ... could they put any more award show cliches in one song?

Yes, they can. It's K-Fed at the piano, and the overly-fertile, cheese-doodle- munching redneck got a brand new trucker hat for this special occasion! Woo hoo!

He's stolen his song title from Missy Elliot, his grooves from Busta Rhymes and his moves from Vanilla Ice. The music industry has just been set back five years.

Word to your mother.

Let's not belabor the fact that he should be killed for suggesting someone should cut the top off a Lamborgini. We've got to cut him some slack, because ...
"Don't hate because I'm a superstar.
And I'm married to a superstar.
Ain't no one gonna come between us no matter who you are."

Wow -- he rhymed "superstar" with "superstar." Those are some skills, son!

I'd like to thank the Fox network for cutting the sound on most of the next minute. They've done a great public service.

Next he jumps down into the audience for a little "spontaneous" adoration, but did you notice that no one was touching him? Maybe he's lost control of his hygiene again, poor thing. Britney should really buy that Spongebob body wash he likes.

"I take care of my own -- that's my family."

Uh-huh. I know Brit's into the breeding thing, but let's not forget who pays the bills, you scrawny little skeeze.

"Just put your hands in the air, and wave 'em from side to side."

Can't we wave 'em like we just don't care? Because we don't.

Then after the lame-ass pyrotechnics and the "I'm too cool for school" ending pose, you know who I feel sorry for?

I feel sorry for anyone who's watched this piece of crap, yeah, but more than that -- I feel sorry for the poor sucker in the front row in the black wifebeater who's gotta jump up and give a half-hearted "Yeah, that's my boy!" arm wave.

Poor guy ... no amount of soap will wash away the stain on his tattered soul.