I'm dedicating this post to two people: 1) Kathleen, who saved me from a day of VH1 and mass quantities of macaroni and cheese, and 2) Matt, my fiance, who does not understand my Britney fixation. To him, I say this: I love her because of my future career. Look at this woman. Can't you imagine her in a deep-fried southern short story? This woman would be married to a man named Big Boy Chisholm and she would have a whole host of children named after different kinds of beer. Imagine little Bud, little Miller, little Blue Ribbon! And she would nefariously be having an affair with every man in town, making the town question their own sexualities and loves and all those great literary ideals. You see, my friends? This woman is a Nobel Prize waiting to be written.