Remember when I said Britney Spears should never leave the house without being airbrushed? I forgot one important fact: You can’t airbrush trailer park. Seriously, did Britney shoot this Rolling Stone cover herself? “Here’s mah belly, y’all! It’ll sell them maggerzines.” Anyway, if you can’t tell, the latest issue features an interview with “new and improved” Britney who keeps getting more precious every time she talks. And by more precious I mean someone’s getting an ear bit off soon:
On her new subdued life:
“I feel like an old person now,” she says one afternoon, as a manicurist applies rhinestones and girly pink lacquer to her chewed-up nails. “I do! I go to bed at, like, 9:30 every night, and I don’t go out or anything, you know what I mean? I just feel like an old fart.”
On her appearance:
She says she’s considering lopping off the weave she’s worn since shaving her head in 2007, and when she counts up her tattoos — “Seven! Oh, my God, y’all!” — she falls back into the couch giggling, kicking her feet in the air.
On her dad’s iron fist:
She is watched over day and night by security guards Jamie hired (and she’s paying for); it’s also rumored that Britney’s phone calls are closely monitored and that she’s not allowed to drive her own Mercedes. Recently, says one source with ties to the Britney camp, Jamie fired a guard who let the singer use his phone. (Her rep denies the claim.)
On Kevin Federline:
“They don’t look like their father at all,” she continues. “And it’s weird ’cause they’re starting to learn words like ‘stupid,’ and Preston says the f-word now sometimes. He doesn’t get it from us. He must get it from his daddy. I say it, but not around my kids.”
Oh, wow, that’s fucking awesome: Britney Spears criticizing Kevin Federline’s parenting. Amazing. First, it was her dad completely turning her life around and saving her from lying dead in a ditch of crazy. Now, it’s Kevin Federline, who may be a douche, but didn’t use their sons as coasters. At this point, I’m pretty sure you could drop Britney in the desert with a canteen, and she’d bitch about the water: “Why is this dumb shit keeping me hydrated? I hate you, wet stuff!”
In fact, let’s do that. I’ll rent the chopper.