BritneyLand Blog

6 a.m. — I'd been up all night drinking hard liquor when the noise started. I could hear the three of them out there banging on the door. I didn't mind the fact it was early in the morning but I'd been up all night playing poker and lost $300 to Clinton, that smiling bastar... well, I could use foul language here but children may accidentally find their way onto the site and that would be the end of the fun. 

Clinton. Always smiling. It was creepy.

"Bite me," I said as the banging started on the door again.

7:36 a.m. — I'm at breakfast with Nixon who's just told me he's sitting on my sun glasses. I only had one pair for the day but then he opened up his coat and there they were. I said I didn't think that was funny.

"I don't think that's funny," I said.

7:47 a.m. — Everyone was still eating. I was worried because I had to do all the work for the day, getting the crowds out, doing the talking, making the pitch for why I'd make a great President. These others just had to hold signs and look famous. Tough acting for me true enough but I was Britney and sometimes you just have to suck it up. Speaking of which I'd been on the Atkins diet for a year and one half and had gained 3 pounds. I thought there was too much bacon.

9:01 a.m. — Okay. So I just got back to my blog. We've been at the hospital. Earlier, Bush got this thing caught in his throat. It was awful. Huge big stinger wasp flew right into Bush's mouth while he was chowing down his fourth plate of pancakes and honey. Endangered species here the Stinger and I told Bush that as he was starting the "gagging in agony" thing. We've been at the hospital for what seems like an hour. 

9:25 a.m. — The hospital has let us out. Bush seems fine. Now he says he's got a toothache from all that honey but we don't care. Nixon was not nice about it. Surprising man Nixon. He keeps putting his fingers in the air like he's signaling a very large plane to land. I've told him to stop.    

10 a.m. — Okay we're dancing and this is certainly going to separate the sheep from the goats. Good thing I've put in long hours on the exercise bike getting ready. We kept telling Bush not to dance Latin but he's doing what he wants. Nixon was dancing like he had a clothes hanger in his shirt. Maybe he did.

10:10 a.m. — Second take. Clinton had left his saxophone sitting in the sun and the thing had started to melt. By the time he got back we'd learned all of the moves without him. The Britney Bunt. It's my own dance. Clinton started to cry so we had to learn it again.  

10:45 a.m. — We moved to the next set but got lost and had to retrace our steps. A couple of perfect strangers who were counting money beside a broken 7-Eleven till told us where to go.

11:00 a.m. — We're drawing flies. Though we're just starting, I think we're making all the right moves but so far we can't seem to get anyone out.