I wasn’t going to comment on the new Britney Spears video, despite the remarkable decision to debut it on 20/20 (of all places) on Friday. Maura over at Idolator had already said everything I was thinking about the stunt, while the rest of my thoughts on Britney ‘08 were thoroughly aired in my VMAs critique. Besides, I’m not exactly a big fan, and she’s pretty low on the list of artists in need of exposure here.

But look, it’s a holiday weekend, which means all of you are home from work, masturbating salubriously. And holy fucking shit, in this new video, Britney Spears is hotter and nakeder than I’ve ever seen her. So here’s a relatively high-quality rip of the uncensored director’s cut, and I think you’ll agree that it’s for damn sure more of a comeback than those three souvenir moon men that even Britney admits weren’t earned.

I don’t know why I even bothered to watch the VMAs. I suppose, by default, they managed to win a controlling share of my vague, morbid curiosity last night.

Rihanna sucked, and so did Pink. I only remember them because their tits almost came out. Even master show-stopper Kanye West’s closing performance was underwhelming, and Kid Rock, who blew the fucking roof off the 1999 VMAs with Run DMC and Aerosmith, was indeed only maybe memorable. And that’s largely thanks to Lil’ Wayne.

Yesterday Johnny delivered something we had been planning to do for awhile: A covers mixtape. It’s a daunting task, picking 10 tracks or so out of the hundreds of great covers there are out there, and I’m sure there will be many many more to come. But there were some crucial ones that I felt absolutely should not be back-burnered. So here’s a follow-up, eleven of my personal favorites.

My name is Britney Bernstein and I love black people. I’m a big fan of the NBA, rap music, BET, and Barack Obama. In the interest of keeping things kosher watermelon on this website, I decided I should review an album by a black person since most of them have been on shitty white bands / singers. God, I hate Katy Perry and I haven’t listened to her album yet either.

Nevermind, I take it back. I’m a fan of black people like Mos Def and Michael Jackson, and I hate Barack Obama. My favorite players in the NBA are Luke Walton and Jordan Farmar. My favorite rapper is Robert Van Winkle and I love the Disney Channel.

As I was flipping through this month’s edition of my mysteriously free and never-ending subscription to Maxim Magazine, I read that Busta Rhymes released an album on Tuesday. I went on to the intarwebs and starting searching torrent sites for Blessed. Considering how easy it was to get Chinese Democracy, I was a little discouraged by not being able to find Blessed. On top of that, Maxim lied to me because Blessed isn’t being released until August or some bullshit. By the way, this album was supposed to be released in December ‘07, and the release date has been pushed back like 4 times.

Katy Perry is the spunky daughter of two Christian ministers who enforced a strict, gospel-only approach to music when she was a child. What better way to rebel against the bible thumping curfew-setters than with her own album, full of Avril-inspired nonsense that rages unconvincingly about boys, boys, boys? It’s a fitting tale of road trips with friends a la Britney Spears’ Crossroads, bi-polar ex-boyfriends and coming into one’s self in the most narcissistic, disposable way possible with the help of exactly the kind of people who know just what it’s like to be a teenage girl: producers Glen Ballard and Dr. Luke (both over 50 years old), among others. The latter is nearly singlehandedly responsible for the success of pop-trash icon Avril Lavigne, having co-wrote and produced nearly all of her “hits.” The former, well, his accomplishments are formidable, but for every Aerosmith or Quincy Jones on his resume, there’s a Wilson Phillips and a Paula Abdul.