If there's nothing missing in her life how come these tears come at night?

People think a man like me, a man who is self-effacing, if beautiful, and who reportedly rolls up his shirtsleeves and has been known to swagger on occasion, a man who drinks his coffee black despite being demonstrably white, a man of contradictions, cannot love Britney Spears because any affection I would have for her and her music would be intercepted and overrun by irony. After all, Justin Timberlake's facility with and inclination towards what Arthur Miller called "the I slept with Marilyn Monroe device (irony)" reportedly broke him and Britney up oh those many years ago.

I love you, baby.

Love me...ironically?

Damn, baby, don't play me like that.

You know what, Justin, I'm beginning to think you're the one who's playing me.

I'm sorry, I didn't hear that last thing, I was writing a song called "Senorita." It is about a girl with latin flavor who I would like to get with, either because of or despite said latin flavor.

I said I was beginning to think you were the one playing me.

Fine then, let's break up (no, let's not, I love you).

Fine (Oh dearest, my heart is a reservoir of pain that only grows more full the more your words break down its walls).

Let me tell you something, people: I own all three Britney Spears albums. While I have yet to purchase My Prerogative, I have downloaded via iTunes the parts that weren't on her previous releases. So think again before judging me, is all I'm saying.

I'm back in Boston. I should have my old cell phone number up and running by the time you read this, or, in the case of Jesse Andrews, have this read to you by someone who isn't functionally illiterate. I got you!