Part Time Person

Ding-dang, y'all.

According to Perez Hilton, Britney Spears recently wrote a suicide note:

"The letter was very sad," says a friend. "It was filled with reasons why she shouldn't live, included lines from poems about death."

Wonder what it said? What literary allusions did Unfitney conjure in her thanatopsis? Well, wait no more: My secret sources have found a copy of this note! I reproduce it here:

'Sup y'all, So I'm like dead or whatev' So like Sylvia Plath wrout it rite :

The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell, the dead bell,
Somebody's done for.

And she was all like:

The woman is perfected
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over

So like when the pap-paps all take my pikture, I'm all like

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wire.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

I'm like exactly like Sylvia Plath, y'all. Here's my poetry

Gimme gimme more, gimme more
Gimme gimme more, gimme gimme more
Gimme more more

You see? That's like litachur an shit.

As my last well and testimoney, I leave all my mony and worldly posesions to Leona Helmsley's dog. Piece out, Brit Brit X(