You know, I really thought that 2004 was going to be my year. I figured that the past 21 years were all in preparation for an all encompassing, near magical "Year of Joe." Yet, only three days into this year, I was greeted with tragic, horribly unsettling news.
I, along with millions of middle aged men around the country, were horrified to learn that Britney Spears had finally taken the oath of marriage. Twenty to fifty year old boys everywhere wept openly in the streets upon learning the sad, desperate truth: their lives are incredibly pathetic for thinking that there was some apocalyptic set of circumstances that would bring them together with Britney. Beyond that, Mrs. Spears' marriage is a sad event in its own right.
Fame, fortune, millions of devoted fans around the globe and she ties the knot on the Las Vegas strip at 5 am on a Saturday? Something tells me alcohol played some small role in the ceremony. And to think, it had always been my dream to be the lucky fella that would get her drunk and legally bound to me while she was under the influence of her own stupidity.
Don't get me wrong, I think its romantic to get married while surrounded by strippers and showgirls, with Pete Rose in the back yelling, "I've got 10 to 1 odds they last a week." I guess I just expected a little more class from the girl who made out with Madonna on live television. Well, one of the girls who made out with Madonna. Okay, one of the many girls who has made out with Madonna. Seriously, I've lost count.
Fortunately, adoring and Internet savvy fans had only to wait 12 hours for the pop princess to be single once again. Are you for real? I've had band-aids that have stuck longer than 12 hours. I also think this is the most unsettling aspect to the whole story. Its not that I mind the blatant disregard for the sanctity of marriage so much as I’m pissed that I can't even drop a class at Drexel as fast as Britney dropped ex-husband #1. That's right, let's start the tally now.
Oh and did I point out that the lucky groom's name is Jason Alexander? Isn't that the guy that played George Costanza on Seinfeld? I know he dated some girls that were out of his league, but this is a little ridiculous. When asked to comment on the marriage, Alexander responded, "Look. I had a bad day, I wanted to get away for the weekend, yada, yada, yada, I had intercourse with Britney Spears. We got married, too. I think."
Apparently, she and this jackass were childhood friends from Louisiana. Who knows what their families are saying? I don't, but its fun to guess, isn't it? Most likely, Momma Spears is saying something to the effect of, "That's just ain't the way its done in Leeziana. It ain't proper unless Pappy's shotgun is pushing the groom up the aisle." To which Pappy Spears responds, "Naw, I'm just embarrassed. They ain't even cousins, sis."
Looking on the positive side of things, a tawdry little scenario like this can only help the girl-not-yet-a-women who tortured us with "Crossroads." I see a whole line of endorsement opportunities opening up for her as a result of this crazy marriage.
First off, an alcohol sponsorship deal has to be in the works by now. "Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum: if you're looking for love, the Captain will see you all the from the dance floor to the altar. Because by 5 am, you're going to need some help walking down that aisle."
And who better to sell cameras than a woman whose first marriage lasted less time than it takes to get a roll of film developed? I foresee Britney being the future spokesperson of single-use products everywhere. "For the night you'll never remember, get the new single-use Kodak SnapShot to save the memories for you. Disposable husbands will come and go, but disposable cameras last a vacation."
In closing, I have one thing I'd like to say to Britney: We all do things in life we're going to regret. The point is that we must learn from our mistakes so that we don't repeat them. Hopefully this experience has taught you that the next time you get married you had better get a receipt. After all, no receipt, no returns.
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