My Pepsi girl

My Pepsi girl

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I have a confession to make.

Well, it's not so much of a confession as it is a public proclamation.

I love Britney Spears.

I love her more than any man has ever loved a woman before.

I love looking at pictures of her. I never get tired of that.

I love watching her videos. I never get tired of that.

I love her hair 

I love her smile. 

I love the way she dances. 

I love the clothes she wears. 

I love her ass.

I love thinking about her naked.

I never, ever get tired of that.

My dear, sweet Britney.

Now I'm sure you're thinking that I'm some middle-aged perverted freak who's ridiculously obsessed with some hot teenage girl. And while it may be true that I am a lot of those things, it's really not like that at all. You see, it's not just that I love Britney. Britney loves me back.

I can tell by the way she looks at me when she's on TV. 

You see, every time she's performing, it may seem like she's there to entertain a lot of people. But the truth is, she's really there just for me. 

In fact, she now does this secret little thing at every concert to let me know she's thinking about me. I shouldn't tell you what it is because she'll probably get mad and a little embarrassed. But I feel secure in my relationship with my dear, sweet Britney. So what the heck?

See the thing is, every time Britney touches her hair she's secretly telling me she loves me.

If you've ever seen her sing, you know she touches her hair a lot. 

So there. Those of you who doubted me now know I'm not lying. I love Britney. And Britney loves me back. And I have this secret little thing with her to prove it.

Well technically, she doesn't actually know that's our secret little thing, but as soon as she reads the second paragraph in the fourth letter I wrote to her today, she will.

Yes, I love Britney. And Britney loves me back. 

When I see Britney, I think about when I was that age, and how I'd look at girls like that and know I didn't stand a chance.

But not Britney. 

Britney sees me beyond the baldness and the oversized ears and the stained teeth and the hairy back

Britney sees the passion that burns deep inside me for her. She knows I'm not like all those other crazy guys out there who are unrealistically "in love" with her.

They don't know what love is.

I know. 

I know how to love a girl like Britney. And I'm going to tell her how much I love her if I ever talked to her.

Right now, I just think about it a lot.

I don't want to get X-Files creepy on you, but there are too many coincidences between us to not believe that the hands of fate haven't played a major role in our remarkable love story.

For example:

*Have you seen the Pepsi commercial with Britney? I like to drink Pepsi.

*Britney's on TV a lot. I like to watch a lot of TV.

*Britney's a hot young teenage girl with great breasts. I like hot young teenage girls with great breasts.

The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. 

I can sum up our relationship in two words:

Destiny? Yessireebob.

From the first moment I saw her in those thigh-high stockings and that short plaid skirt singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time," I knew I had found the girl of my dreams.

I'm sure others thought the same thing. But I'm the kind of guy who doesn't just sit back and think about things. 

I'm a doer. Which is why I am where I am today.

From my Britney Spear's screen saver, to my Britney Spears trading cards, it's obvious: I was meant for Britney. And Britney was meant for me.

I'm sure you've all heard that Britney is "dating" that idiot from 'N Sync, Justin Timberlake. Let me be the first to break the news that their relationship is nothing more than a sad attempt on her part to make me jealous. Because I'm sure she's jealous that I'm married.

Let me also say that if she really did like him, I would give that putz the most ass-kickingest ass-kicking he's ever seen. Because that's the kind of guy I am. 

The fact is, I have a little bit of a violent streak inside me, and I completely lose control when it takes over my body.

I just don't like anyone messing with my women. I mean woman

Britney. Britney Spears.

Lately, when I come home from work, my wife's been telling me she's had a few hang ups on the phone during the day.

I know it's Britney. Sometimes I think it's cute that she calls and hangs up like that. Other times I'm afraid she might try to pull some sort of Fatal Attraction crazy thing on my wife. 

Then I always remember that we don't own a rabbit and my wife doesn't cook, so I feel better.

If you ask me, it's almost embarrassing how in love with me Britney is. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if she had pictures of me all over her dressing room. 

I know she has a lot of them, too. I send her 10 almost every day.

Sometimes, I take a picture of her and Justin Timberlake and I put my head on his body, just so she can see what we'd look like together.

Other times I just send her a picture of Justin I've cut out where I've put big, red scribbly lines through his head and his heart.

I think she likes them. I mean, she's never sent them back or anything.

Yes, I was meant for Britney. And Britney was meant for me.

I realize that at some point in the not-too-distant future, I'm going to have to leave my wife for Britney. I just need to figure out how and when and what exactly I'm going to say to her.

See, I've been married to my wife for a long time. Almost 13 years. We have two children. And we've shared many wonderful, wonderful memories together.

But enough is enough already.

I've given this woman my undivided attention for a long time. 

Frankly, I'm too much man to be tied down to one woman. 

Oh, I'm sure my wife will be upset at first when I tell her that I've found someone else. But once she finds out it's Britney, I'm certain she'll understand.

How could she not?

It's Britney, for God's sake.

She's like, a goddess.

A goddess with a great ass.

Please don't worry about me, though. I'm not going to be a deadbeat daddy or anything. I'll still see the kids every other weekend, like all good divorced dads with hot young girlfriends do. 

Gee, how popular will my kids be? How popular will I be?

"Hey kids. Why don't you invite your friends over to the pool? We can all play Marco Polo with Britney!"

"Brit, honey? Do you mind cutting the grass today? I'm just gonna sit on the deck with a couple of other dads in the neighborhood and watch. No, no. Those tights shorts and that tank top are just fine."

I know my dear, sweet Britney has a busy summer planned. So I'm thinking maybe sometime in the fall would be good for us to finally get together.

I'm not quite sure where we'll be living. I need to talk to her about that.

Actually, I need to talk to her about a lot of things.

Actually, I need to talk to her, period.

But I know I will soon. Because I know she's thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about her. And I know that our separation is as painful for her as it is for me. But the bottom line is, I'm a patient man. And I'm willing to wait as long as I need to get the girl of my dreams.

Soon, we'll be together, sharing the rest of our lives. 


But if it doesn't work out, that's OK, too. 

I've still got all these pictures of her. And a box of Kleenex.

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