Britney has been a staple of the white d-bag’s cultural diet for almost a decade. Middle-aged d-bags with dilating bald spots were young men when Spears’s ground breaking hit “…Baby One More Time” was first released in January of 1999. Then, they openly salivated over the newly-legal 18-year-old Spears’s luscious, creamy thighs and sweet as sugar demeanor; now they sing “…Baby One More Time” in lonely karaoke bars thinking of all the punani they saw but never tasted.
But what can explain Spears’s lasting impression on the d-bag imagination, long after her looks have faded and her star declined? Without question a d-bag loves to see others’ misery broadcast in as many media outlets as possible. The importance of reality TV and the lasting appeal of the show “24” attest to the d-bag’s love of Sadistic voyeurism. But Britney’s misfortunes are not mere fodder for a d-bag’s self-congratulatory smugness.
Even though d-bags love being right despite the facts; and even though a d-bag loves to say “I told you so”; something in Britney’s tragic story — let’s call it pathos — touches the heart of a d-bag in a soft and tender place he is rarely touched. Perhaps it is her own d-bag, white trash roots that resonate with millions of home-grown American d-bags; or perhaps her admirers see in her their own thwarted hopes and dreams. Britney may be America’s Everywoman, which is why we see in her our own transformations. Her youth and beauty, the stress of success that ruined her family and career, and her humble return to stardom as a minor character on a minor TV show is, perhaps, an allegory of American history, writ small. It is a tale full of sound and fury, told by an idiot, signifying nothing. It shows us that we as a nation have gone from the giddy ignorance and vacant optimism of youth to a bitter, relentless middle age of fear and hatred. And what is the next step for our country? We report — you decide.