The episode began with the most unholy of images: an extreme close up of Britney and Kevin kissing. Yes, every acne scar on her face and ever pubic hair on his chin was in full, glorious view. Please let this image not be the standard for the hour.

Next we heard the first of what would be many banal comments by Ms. Spears. "My ideal guy will be someone that hasn't really seen that much." You know, someone with a small mind, limited perspective. An idiot, if you will. Ah, but then Britney elaborated: "I'd like to see through him." Well, luckily she found K-Fed, as transparent a guy as there ever was. Oh wait, she meant vicariously? Oh, well, then Kevin Federline is still a great choice. Now Britney can relive those magical moments: the first time she impregnated another woman, the first time she wore a do-rag, and the first time she finished almost all of the crossword in People Magazine. Yes, Kevin would be able to take her on a magical journey.

Moments later, our eyes were nearly blinded by an extreme close up of Kevin's face as he muttered, "I care about you." Aww. Ain't he the sweetest? He possesses the basic emotional state of a relationship! Oh, and for those of you wondering: yes, we got to see them kissing up close and intimate yet again. Man, this was going to be such a romantic show.

After this obnoxious opening montage, we finally got to hear the big intro theme song, which apparently was sung by all backup singers. Wait, hold on, I think I hear a duck dying. Somebody save that bird! Oh, never mind. It was just Britney's contributions to the vocal track. Moving on...

The next home video gem came courtesy of a little night-vision action. I reasonably became excited at the prospect of another sex tape scandal, but sadly, we were only privy to Britney making funny faces in the camera. Oh look, she's making her nose look like a snout! Oh, and now she's crossing her eyes! And now she's sticking her jaw out! Oh, that's good times. I remember when I used to do that... WHEN I WAS EIGHT.

We then cut to a still shot of Britney's knees. "They look like boobs, but they're not," she said. Yes, that's because they're KNEES, you moron. Okay, to be fair, she accurately pointed out that they were in fact knees, and I really shouldn't be so harsh on her searing commentary. It's not fair really. It's like making fun of a toddler for having bad grammar. (Taking a moment to reflect on how much more money Britney earns than me. Yeah, that hurts).

Anyway, Brit was in London for some concerts, and so she happily gave us a tour of her hotel suite. There's the dining room. There's the living room. And oh look, there's a piano. The perfect accompaniment for a musician. Now, if only she could convince us that she's a musician...

Okay, this has all been fun, but now let's have a serious discourse about relationships, commitment, and life. Yes, Britney decided to hold a roundtable discussion with her stylist and a random repairman who just happened to be fixing her couch (mayhaps a wayward Cheeto disabled the sofa?). It was refreshing to see she surrounded herself with such intellectually stimulating peers. After some muffled, banal remarks, Brit then focused the camera on her frumpy assistant, Felicia, a woman who looked like the composite of every girl in my Hebrew school (with a Southern accent though). Needless to say, she had a schnozz. Anyway, Felicia was one of those giggly, "Why you asking ME this??" people, and thankfully she was off the TV relatively quickly. However, no Felicia means more Brit. And more Brit means more idiotic comments.

"My ideal guy I think for me will be somebody that's... um... cool." Wow, she has got to lower her standards. She'll never find a guy with those picky requirements! Wait a second. People say that I'm cool. That means that I could be her husband! Call me, Brit!

Later, Britney and her crew headed to the UK version of TRL (same show, only instead of Carson Daly, they have fish and chips. It's actually much more enjoyable). "I get real antsy in cars!" said Britney, adding, "I done get real nervous-like without my keg of Cheetos next to me. Yeah, that's right. I got Cheetos on tap."

Luckily, a D-12 song came on the radio, effectively distracting Brit from her eminent antsy breakdown. She immediately began singing along with Eminem as he crooned "These chicks don't even know the name of my band." Honestly, I'm not even being a Britney hater when I say her voice was atonal, nasal, and full-on awful. At first I thought she was trying to sound like Eminem, but no, she was really singing. How does this woman have a record contract?

OKAY EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING! It's Felicia Cam! Literally. A little title came on the screen to verify this. Yes, our favorite bashful assistant was helming the camera now. Anything could happen! What would this young Jane Campion capture? Uh, nothing. Just the backs of Britney's two lumbering bodyguards. Great job, Felicia!

Posted by B-side on May 18, 2005 2:20 AM