In the wake of the pooter-flashing scandal that's rocked our country during the past week (seriously, Iraq whaa? Clitney!), a burning question has formed in all of our minds: what impact will the increased incidence of celebrity vagina-showing have on sex-positive feminism? Well, wonder no more: Camille Paglia, the ever-controversial author of Sexual Personae (and also an incredibly educational commentary track on the DVD of Basic Instinct) shared her thoughts with Us Weekly.

· A: Probably mass suicide. Staring into the existential void represented by Spears' vagina should almost invariably lead one to the conclusion that life is absurd and meaningless.
Al Gore seems less than psyched that Lindsay Lohan has named him as a sponsor in her planned crusade against the gossip-obsessed media.
· Rosie O'Donnell's not leaving The View, so we expect Elizabeth Hasselbeck isn't quite ready to ease up on the cutting.
We're not even going to pretend that we have any idea why Beyonce's face is rippling like that.
Heads are a-rollin' at the Hollywood Reporter, just in time for Christmas.
Hey, horny manatee!

This is the statement that's up now on Britney's official website. We hardly need to point out which set of lips is doing the talking here, but we did anyway, because that's what we do.

Lindsay Lohan's recent penchant for unedited, rambling, Blackberry-distributed manifestos has given us a newfound appreciation for succinct publicist-authored statements trying to minimize the harm that certain club-haunting, infant-neglecting, panty-eschewing clients are doing to their images. Take, for example, this note posted to BritneySpears.com last night: In an efficient six sentences, fans learn that sure, Spears might be overdoing it with the partying, but she's just stretching her legs after a two-year imprisonment by screaming babies and a deadbeat househusband, and is now ready to calm down a bit and rediscover the joys of mass-market, lacy underthings, all without the intervention of the Clinton Administration. She's back, ya'll, at least until she undoes the whole thing by getting caught leaving one of her kids on the bar at Area while she heads off to the bathroom with Paris Hilton for half an hour of nose-powdering.

· TVGasm has an exclusive! photo! essay! of the upstate New York scene of Rip Torn's DWI arrest, which resulted in one of the greatest celebrity mugshots ever taken.
Kevin Federline's "lack of public self-pity in the face of a lifetime to be spent as a punchline" game is ridiculous.
Paris Hilton wants kids, Britney doesn't seem to want hers anymore—we think there's a two-babies-for-a-bag-of-strawberry-blow exchange waiting to be made here.
The Office's Jenna Fischer's lack of mastery of an "I'm A Star In Public" Voice does nothing to diminish our love. We're glad she got more water, that's always an excellent choice, but she should ditch the husband. We're just sayin'.
· Gridskipper's Nazi Santa Tracker didn't have to look past Monday night's Studio 60 for its first Hitler Claus sighting.

Yahoo has released its annual list of top search terms for this quickly expiring, action-packed 2006, a rundown that should once again prove that the internets, despite their still-untapped capacity for great good, still remain a tool primarily engaged for the productivity-sapping, minute-by-minute tracking of celebutard evil. A press release touting the list's arrival informs us that Britney Spears has been the top search term for five of the last six years, but this year's title should easily be the sweetest, earned as it was on the power of millions upon million of queries as varied as "Britney baby drop," "Britney Spears deadbeat divorce," and the recent, Web-slowing searchalanche, "Britney Spears upskirt vagina pics."

You know that song "I'm Every Woman?" We were mulling this over in the shower, and we were thinking that Britney Spears is, in her retarded way, Every Celebrity. During the course of her career, she's actually tried to nail every single dumb famous-person archetype of the 21st century: the virgin-whore ingenue, the Reesey young wife and mom, and now the LA club-scene vagina-flashing coke slut. So when we're presented with a handful of blind (or, since they're Post-y, mildly astigmatic) items, it's less a matter of figuring out which one is Britney and more a matter of trying to think of a reason that they wouldn't all be about Britney. To wit:

· ABC News Presents: How to Talk to Your Kids About Skanky, Panty-Shedding Celebutards. It's not too late to keep your children off Hilton's pole.
Minibar-draining wild baboon attacks: the hidden danger of South African location shoots.
Blogger vs. MSM Oscar coverage slapfight!
Rubber bullets and pepper spray are two other, non-lethal ways that rowdy UCLA students can be effectively subdued.
Beverly Hills' new The Prime Grill steakhouse: "Our kosher steaks are so delicious that Mel Gibson and Michael Richards are afraid to eat them."

• Britney Spears' innocent trip to the LA Zoo was marred by another vagina-flashing incident. (SFW, though telling you that kind of ruins the joke)[Yeeeah]
  

As Britney Spears continues on her gum smacking, vagina-flashing, Jager-Bomb-slamming party exploits with "Auntie Paris" (as her children have been explicitly instructed to now refer to the new blonde lady in their lives who keeps ashing into their plastic Cheerios containers), suddenly Kevin Federline comes off looking not so bad. He's kept a low profile in the three weeks since the break-up, surfacing only in some wholesome Thanksgiving photos at Shar Jackson's house with nary a cornrow or wayward nutsack in sight, and now the Us Weekly blog informs us he's keeping busy with a reality show project in the works:

Not content to merely accept the explanation "because flashing her exposed cooter to the swarm of paparazzi photographing her exit from Paris Hilton's car seemed like it would be good for business," the brave investigative journalists at E! Online decided to explore other possibilities for the serial vagina-revealer's recent experimentation with a panty-free lifestyle. Excerpts from their yeoman's work in this matter follow:

Now that we've all had time to digest the hidden brilliance of Britney's high school essay on Antigone, it's time to turn our attention to Jason Alexander (remember him?), Britney's 55-hour husband, whose attempts to stay in the spotlight are approaching Shar Jackson levels. In this exclusive interview he gave to the UK Sun, we learn that he's writing a book about his and Britney's adventures. And what a book it promises to be!

Yesterday, when we posted about Britney Spears' poetic talents, commenter Zibby said that Britney's classic 'Honeymoon Poem' was "something a reasonably intelligent fifth-grader would think twice about handing in." So we wondered: what kind of work DID the young Mouseketeer do, during those rare moments when her stage mother allowed her to be schooled? The answer comes from, oddly enough, Christie's, where a page from Britney's high school notebook is being auctioned off to benefit the Britney Spears Foundation. The page contains Britney's essay on Sophocles' Antigone and, uh, wow. Highlights: "she wants him to be able to be in the heaven of ghost" and "the God are angry with him." But really, it must be experienced in Britney's ultragirly handwriting to be fully appreciated:

• Britney Spears put the classy makeover on hold until . . . tomorrow! Tomorrow, we're sure of it! by hanging out with Fat Elvis impersonator/oily haired oil heir Brandon Davis. [TMZ]
  

Today we learn that Kendra Jade, the porno lady who once boned recent Britney Spears castoff Kevin Federline, is, like Brit-Brit herself, a mistress of the fine art of verse. Boy, that guy sure has a type, right? Poetry-writing chicks! That's his type! Anyway, we know from all of your comments about our grammar and spelling errors that you Gawker readers consider yourselves extremely well-qualified judges of literary merit. So we hope you'll help us decide whether Kendra or Britney hath the more fluent pen.

This week's issue of Us asks an important, but as yet neglected, question arising from Britney Spears' recent, troubling partnership with starlet-devouring partytard Paris Hilton, whose fleeting affections have driven previously discarded sidekick Nicole Richie into the bony embrace of a mysterious eating disorder and set Lindsay Lohan's auburn-tinged ladyparts aflame for all time: But what about the children? While it's understandable to assume that Spears' questionable child-rearing abilities (Sean Preston will involuntarily shake in the presence of a high chair well into adulthood) will hardly be improved by spending her nights installed in a booth at Hyde, her kids will be fine. Ever since Spears tried to teach her first child how to drive her getaway car, Child Protective Services has quietly assigned a full-time tail to ensure her offspring's safety, and Britney plans to spend more quality time with new arrival Jayden James by integrating him into her lifestyle, at least to a point: The infant will be allowed to ride along to the clubs with Mommy in Auntie Paris' Maybach, but once they arrive at their hotspot of choice, a specially designated valet will babysit for the duration of the evening by nestling the baby in the glovebox, an improvised crib comfortably lined with the panties Spears and Hilton ritualistically discard before leaving the vehicle.

• Just in case you are the one person who hasn't already become intimately familiar with Britney's c-section scar and all the rest, well, here you go. Not. Safe. For. Work. [Drunken Stepfather]
  

· The Brokeback to the Future guys have returned, and they've added lasers to Singin' in the Rain, proving that there's no dance scene that can't be improved with futuristic gunplay.
· And thus begins the GQ Newlyweds of the Year Curse. Unfortunately, Tom and Katie almost certainly won't qualify for next year's installment.
The LA outpost of Eater officially launched today, the newest member of the burgeoning Curbed blogging empire. Stop by and welcome them to the neighborhood.
Britney and Paris: the one act play and the lost diary entry.
· And today's palate cleanser: Sleepy Kitten.

Anonymous e-mailer "123FUCKYOURSELF" writes in to set the record straight about yesterday's post about a photo of Kevin Federline posing with an unidentified woman while allegedly attending two-time Federline baby momma Shar Jackson's Thanksgiving feast:

Say what you will about Britney Spears, but she's a pro. Upon inspecting the photos from her recent, impromptu upskirt shoot, in which her genitals were amateurishly obscured by a badly positioned thigh, she vowed that the next time she disembarked from Paris Hilton's luxury automobile while a dozen camera-wielding "fans" aimed their telephoto lenses at her ladyparts, she'd helpfully hike up her skirt and deliver the unobstructed view they so assiduously sought. She'll undoubtedly be more pleased with these results than she was with her previous effort, but as a perfectionist, she won't be able to easily quell the nagging feeling that the photographers didn't capture her labia's good side, and will insist on exiting through the driver's side door on her next trip to Hyde.