I have a bit of trouble figuring out if the way Justin Timberlake sings Cry Me A River like a horny adolescent is sexy, or if it’s just my hormones (and a bit of my visual memory) speaking. But then, if he earns millions of dollars by making records and talking crap about Britney Spears, that’s because his songs are precisely tailored for the kind of prepubescent girls who dream of being touched for the very first time, like me. Like my prepubescent superego. Or my prepubescent id, or whatever is related to my reptilian brain.
Anyway, the day I download Britney songs, just shoot me.
I just checked my (somewhat limited) mp3 collection to see if there was any Britney, and… I won’t tell you.
Damn, have I got nothing more interesting to write about than that? Nope. Crappy week.
P.S. It’s five in the morning and I’m listening to a Justin Timberlake mp3 over and over. There’s no time to be lost, shoot me right now, there isn’t any kind of hope left.
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