Dear Britney,

in case you wanted to show the world on your 27th birthday that you are no longer addicted to any kinda chemicals, that you are a sane, level-headed young woman, that you are neither cheap nor stupid and that you are as able to make responsible decisions, as mothers should be, at least in trivial issues such as putting on clothes, then, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you just re-defined the word “failure”. No. No, no, no. No. Take my word for it. No. That is a no, as in N, and right after it O. No. Definitely no. No.

You shallow, empty-headed, sellout of a white trash tart. You used to have millions, can’t you afford a full body length mirror anymore? Or at least one that shows your torso? Girl, you make blonde jokes sound complimentary. The only good thing about that dress is that you have to get wasted drunk to show if you forgot to wear panties. Again.

Happy b-day btw. Hope you didn’t get knocked up again. You’re still a kid yourself. Grow the eff up, your boys need you. And by that I mean your sons and not the ones after your money booty.