Dear Britney,

What the FUCK is wrong with you?

You know what I think this whole thing is about? You have NO gays in your life. If you did, you would've gone with the corset top instead of the bra on the VMA's, and Ken Paves would've done your hair. He also would've told you that the blue contacts look ridiculous.

But, let's be honest: that performance is the least of your problems. I'm going to tell you a little story, Brit-Brit. So put the crack pipe down for a minute, and listen.

I remember some years back, when I was just a little boy, I was driving in the car with my mother, and I turned on the radio. And there you were. This sweet, young and impressionable voice came on and your song became my obsession. I kept wanting you to hit me one more time over and over again.

And when your video hit the television? Oh, you won me over even more. Those pigtails wrapped in pink feathers, the good girl/bad girl catholic schoolgirl uniform, and a stomach that only a 60 year old man could love. I guess you could say you had me at, "Oh baby, baby."

The hits kept coming and coming. "Oops I Did It Again," "Crazy," "Sometimes," "Lucky" "Stronger," and "Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know."

And then, something happened. Something SO massive that it completely changed my entire life. "I'm A Slave 4 U," debuted on MTV.

It was the first time I actually thought that I was physically able to penetrate a woman. It was the first time I WANTED to. Your blonde extensions, the tan, the pink thong on the outside of your jeans (groundbreaking, really) and the sweat that poured out of your body...I could've stuck MORE than just the tip in you.

Your "live" performances were always on point, your passion, your attitude. You sucked me in year after year with every "live" show from the Grammy's, to The VMA's, the Pepsi Endorsement Commercials, even to Austin Powers when you so beautifully shot bullets out of your nipples.

"In The Zone," dropped, and we all fell in love with you all over again. It was overproduced synthesized production AT IT'S BEST. Truly.

And then HE came along. No, not J-Dawg, FederFucker. It was like we didn't even KNOW you anymore. We're still not sure if he drugged you everyday for two years, or if your entire relationship/marriage was held at gunpoint, I don't know, Brit. None of us knew.

We could all see right through that interview with Matt Lauer. You, claiming to be happy with HIM...but we all knew you weren't. Why didn't you just TELL us the truth, sweetpea? We could've saved you. And when I say WE, I mean me.

However, time passed and you saw the light. You left him. And I couldn't have been prouder. I even tivo'd your appearance on the David Letterman show. Your cute new bob, your tiny waist...the comeback was right around the corner.

But, something in your brain went all kinds of crazy. Momma Lynne is no longer in the picture. Daddy, Jamie Lynn, Felicia the beloved assistant...where did they go? And more pictures surfaced of you with strippers wearing UNFLATTERING thongs, getting wasted, and you thinking that we all should know what your vagina looks like. In detail. Many times. Over and over.

And NOW look what's happened. You shave your head because the extensions were pulled too tight. PAIN IS BEAUTY, BRIT-BRIT! You, of ALL people should understand this. Ugh, and that scary as hell picture of you with the umbrella...I thought it was a scene from Stephen King's next film. Honestly, I did. The outfits you've chosen to grace us with your presence in...stealing clothes from an OK! Magazine shoot, letting London shit all over the Zac Posen gown, wiping your greasy hands from fried chicken on rented expensive clothes...leaving doors open to bathrooms as you pee DURING A SHOOT WITH OK! MAGAZINE?!?!?!?

I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I've held on far too long to the thought of you making a comeback. "Gimme More," I liked. I did.

The kids are gone. You're alone. All you have left is staring right back at you.

We miss the old Britney. The fearless performer who left us wanting more.

Where'd she go, Brit? Could you let us know?

And if she ever decides to come back, have her call me.

Love,

Jim