Britney's Post-Rehab Strategy
Once again, Britney Spears finds herself making the wrong kind of headlines. Fresh out of rehab, how can the superstar single mom rebuild her career? I can only imagine.
Welcome back. How was rehab?
It was an incredible experience. I laughed. I cried. I'm joking. It sucked. The only thing that got me through it was shooting dice for cigarettes and trying to find the paparazzi site lines in the yard. Did you ever cut the product placement deal with Marlboro?
They said they'd only consider it if you held up the pack.
Whatever, my plans for a 2007 image makeover got a little sidetracked. We need to take this gravy train in a new direction. I'm scrapping the old-school hip-hop revival. I want to do an album of country duets with Ray Charles.
Ray Charles is dead.
Do you think I'm stupid? We'll lay in new tracks and just bastardize the vocals from his "Greatest Country and Western Hits." Just like Natalie Cole did with her dad. And for a bonus track, I'll do club version of "Amazing Grace."
Of course, to let everyone know you've found the Lord.
And cancel the bi-curious erotica project.
I'm way ahead of you.
Son, you're so far behind you think you're in first. I see Angelina Jolie has upped the ante on the baby parade so my two cuties don't cut it anymore.
I'll look into adoption agencies in the Sudan.
Too cliché. We need to break new ground. Let's get one of those abandoned embryos.
We should be able to get one cheap.
It's not about cost. I want to start pandering to the religious right audience. This baby most likely will be born in the heat of the GOP primary season. This could get me a ton of free publicity at the anti-stem cell research rallies. I need you to find a surrogate — I'm done being a baby factory. But we've got to find the right candidate. Are there any diseases that are curable with pregnancy?
I'll find out.
We need to start drumming up some good ol' American sympathy, pronto. When does Kevin release the "unauthorized" sex tape?
It's in post-production now. But Mr. Federline is insisting on director and producer credits. He wants to submit it for awards.
OK, but I want him to leave the writer credit blank. I'll be damned if he's going to take credit for all my work. Is he fine with the rest of the deal?
Yep, he gets the profits, you keep the kids.
Moving on, I want a full prospectus on the rehab clinic I was at — quarterly reports, IRS filings, board member e-mail threads, the works. That place took me for 7 digits, so they must be doing something right. If it's legit, I want to invest. But we'll call it a donation.
I'll get legal on it.
And find a congressman whose pet project is substance abuse. Make sure he's young and dumb. I want him to hold a hearing on rehabilitation. Tell him we'll take care of all the publicity. And schedule a meeting with Betty Ford. I want to announce at the hearing that's she's my new sponsor. The photo-op on the Capitol steps will be priceless.
Miss Britney, this is a tall order. Have you considered what I suggested at our meeting in the clinic?
An image consultant? We could go that route. Of course I would run the risk of scratching and clawing for every last dollar in a bitter divorce with a beloved '60s icon and shaking my one good leg on "Dancing with the Stars."
Point taken.
Now get that congressman on the phone this afternoon. I need some time to work on my Southern accent.
Mike Wuebben has written several non-published works, including angry e-mails to former girlfriends and at least three book reports on the Judy Blume classic, "Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing." Prior to that, he couldn't read or write.
If you really want to talk, send Mike an e-mail. If it's urgent, buy an industrial-size spotlight with a W stencil and shine it into the night sky. Mike looks up regularly to check his messages.