I find it hard to believe that after five years of Britney Spears earnestly trying to prove otherwise the American public thinks that at 21 she’s still a virgin. I’m willing to bet that little ditties like "Oops I Did It Again!" are not about masturbatory fantasies or the second time she actually farted.

Suggestively gyrating like a go-go dancer with a thong full of chiggers while adorned in everything from shredded chamois cloth to skintight red patent leather body suits, Ms. Spears accessorizes these outrageous get-ups with live boa constrictors, men’s hats, and the occasional riding crop. Okay, I made the last one up, but I’m curious what she would "simulate" with a Hillshire Farms Kielbasa if she was paid to endorse the product.

Let’s face it folks, news reports stated that after her break-up with fancy lad Justin Timberlake, she started smoking. That’s just one bad habit leading to another. Oral fixations are always the hardest to break. The starry-eyed little sub-debutantes who once adored her unbroken hymen are now denied autographs from their icon of chastity after waiting in the rain for nine hours. Consequently, the sales of her last two albums have plummeted drastically. Though not at complete rock bottom, the numbers indicate that the throngs of teenyboppers, who once swarmed around their idol, are growing up. Ironically, just like their beloved, yet somewhat tarnished Britney.

Not surprisingly, there have been rumors of trouble within the Spears camp, which has nothing to do with the ruse that she’s still a virgin. Her handlers have wholeheartedly decided that she should distance herself from being a wannabe "titty flopper" willing to expose her "portal to hole" navel for a money shot in the limelight and instead concentrate on becoming a real live "Diva".

The trouble is that after hundreds of hours of lessons from voice and singing coaches, Ms. Spears' warbling have been compared to gargles of phlegm spewed through a megaphone and high notes which uncannily resemble the painful howls of a woman in the throes of a breech birth. Britney, you’ve got to be able to sing to be a diva. Besides, how many divas do you see jumping around onstage in an outfit that looks like something Jane would’ve worn in one of those old Tarzan movies?

On top of all that, Britney's business managers are in a panic akin to a stock market crash. They don't want to see their precious meal ticket doing an infomercial for the "Ultra Food Vacuum Sealer" at 3:00am or worse yet, end up on Hollywood Squares.

Just who the hell came up with the canard that we need more divas anyway? Doesn’t the world have enough of these over-inflated egoists with a penchant for odd behavior? For example, you’ve got Barbara Sreisand: a bitchy shut-in who only appears in public for Democratic fundraisers; Diana Ross: anorexic megalomaniac whose last "review" tour was cancelled after three dates; Mariah Carey: two nervous breakdowns, a crappy movie, and a "comeback"-a lot can happen in two weeks; Whitney Houston: married to Bobby Brown, substance abuse allegations, last seen as an extra in a Sally Stuthers "Save the Children" commercial in which she played a worn out potato sack; Celine Dion: shrewish canuck who gave up singing to care for her newborn child or ailing husband, or vice-versa; Cher: she’s old enough to fart cobwebs with spiders dangling. Sounds like the roster at the Betty Ford Clinic to me.

Britney, I know you can hear me. We’ve connected on some level. I really mean this…you can make a lot of money doing bachelor parties.