OK, well, I know she's not dead yet, and I don't wish for her demise. But if Dr. Phil, that smirking, bald-headed, TV head-shrinker gets his hands on her, well, I predict, that's when the doomsday clock on her earthly incarnation clicks into warp speed.
So the Britcastrophe, the Britpocalypse, the Britapalooza marches on. Britney makes Elvis' career melt-down look tame. Not sure what lessons we can draw from all of this. Too much, too soon. Too little, too late. Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. "The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom." - Wm. Blake
Take one lightly educated white cracker, add a dollop of insane wealth, mix in some new wiz-bang chemicals, magnify by a billion cameras and eyes and well, you get Bob Dole's wet dream. If Britney has reached some kind of pop cultural goddess wisdom, it is impermeable, unpenetrable for us mere mortals out in the hinterlands.
John Rogers of Kung Fu Monkey may have hit upon the truth of the situation. (You must check this out!) Think Britney - Codename: TOXIC! World Jihad can't hold a candle to the incandescent flame of the Britney torch!