With a significant portion of Southern California engulfed in apocalyptic hellfires sent by a vengeful God clearly envious of our year-round good weather and easily accessible, delicious produce, the hardy footsoldiers dispatched to the front lines of this unwinnable war display extraordinary courage in the line of duty. We speak, of course, of the paparazzi angling for a shot of Britney Spears's home. The NY Observer reports:
"Basically, all the paparazzi are still out there trying to get their Britney shot," said one resident of the beachy burg. "They don't even care much about the burning houses."
Indeed, gripes about Britney have been permeating Malibu like so much ash, said the source, who overheard Mel Gibson's wife, Robyn, venting to a fellow local. "She was like, 'It's so annoying that people are more concerned about if Britney Spears's house was burnt'"—so far, it's escaped any damage—"'than their own well-being.'" Mad Max's wife, who was forced to evacuate along with the couple's twin boys, went on to say that the situation said horrible things about "people's priorities."
"Basically," said the source, "Britney needs to get the fuck out of Malibu."
This isn't the first resident of a tony Los Angeles enclave to verbalize their frustration over the riots that follow the singer wherever she goes. Still, when Mrs. Mel Gibson, Duchess of the Dominion of Malibu, is reduced to getting her sugartits in a bunch over the media's trivial obsession with her gum-snapping, latté-chugging neighbor—as beach-dwelling Malibu Americans are sent fleeing from their burning homes—it signals to us that something is truly off-kilter with the current state of disaster-exploitation tabloid journalism.