This past few days we have seen more invasive pictures of Britney. But instead of her (ho ho) bald head or her even balder (ho ho) fanny, the pictures show her being wheeled out on a stretcher. Wheeled out from her huge mansion on the most exclusive part of Beverly Hills after a dispute over her children.
Aren't we tired of the bullying yet? Do we laugh at this? this rich bitch? Have you ever done something rash and woken up to regret it? The next day, don't we want to forget it and hide away? We feel shame and it burns our cheeks as we see our friends and coworkers again. We laugh, nervously, or apologise. Forget it, they might say. Or we avoid those people, those whom we can't face. We want the world to swallow us whole; not chop up our embarrassment up for easy digestion.
And I know she's made millions from it. From fame. We buy her products. And she profited it from it, so she owes us, right? Fame has become an open invitation into celebrities lives. We can come in, make ourselves at home. Not only that, we can go through your rubbish and take pictures of your children. And when you ask us to stop and leave, we refuse and feel indignant. You invited us, we say, and therefore you only have yourself to blame.
But Britney's been in the game long enough, surely. But when is it enough? We don't know we've had enough, until we've had more than enough. She will probably have the pleasure of dying before a phalanx of hungry cameras and the one time princess of pop will have no regal protection. Only then might we say how terrible it all is. Right when the guilt sets in.
The box is of celebrity is open and has formed a co-dependent addiction. It seems she cannot break free. Can you, weak and pathetic general public, reject the cult that you've joined without knowing?
