If brains were fries, Britney Spears couldn't fill a goddamn happy meal.

Aside from screaming half the night and leaving your wardrobe with the sweet smell of spit-up, babies are a veritable fountain of redeeming qualities. They're: a) more often than not, so cute as can be, b) cuddly, c) giggly, d) squeezably soft and other fuzzy-wuzzy adjectives not uttered at Planned Parenthood. You'll notice that being used as an airbag deployment tool has been left off that checklist. However, translate that kernel of logic into the twisted mind of Shitney and you get a prime opportunity to lose 20 pounds of baby fat after hitting the brakes and watching little spudnik fly through the window.

But maybe riding the crimson wave into day 3 just has me feeling bitchier than usual. I mean, hell sometimes I run, sometimes I drive...sometimes I'm scared of photographers using the long lens as I leave A&W All-American Food with a face full of chili cheese fries. So, let's hold off on chucking this pop tart to the wolves for at least the next 30 seconds to hear Brit Brit's line of defense:

"Today I had a horrifying, frightful encounter with the paparazzi while I was with my baby. Because of a recent incident when I was trapped in my car without my baby by a throng of paparazzi, I was terrified that this time the physically aggressive paparazzi would put both me and my baby in danger. I instinctively took measures to get my baby and me out of harm's way, but the paparazzi continued to stalk us, and took photos of us which were sold to the media. I love my child and would do anything to protect him."

She'd do anything to protect him, especially hold him on her lap while she was being chased by photographers on that oasis of safety - Pacific Coast Highway. That's really secure. I mean, really... who else was gonna hold her Schlitz malt liquor and Cheetos for her?

Talk about being destined for an E! True Hollywood Story from the womb. All Sean Preston really asks for in life is some nipple-to-mouth action, gourmet pureed peaches and working diaper genie. Instead, he's forced to bare the cross of being the love child of a chronic gigolo with the mic skills of Brian Austin Green and a washed-up douchebag who walks into public restrooms barefoot. Next on tap... trading Seanie Poo for a McRib next time Daddy maxes out the Amex card at the golden arches.

As if the baby's daddy wasn't enough, now mom decides the back seat is way too tame for her kid since it's crowded from all of K-Fed's subwoofers. She's Britney fucking Spears — and rules are for fools. What's the big deal, right? "It is what it is."

Labels: Britney Spears, media