Justin Bieber is such an inspiration. If he can go to being the most hated tween with people writing petitions to deport him and Journals flopping to this...then I can do anything.
(Or is it just that thing people call "white privilege"? I mean oh well. Chris Brown has a bigger career than Rihanna now and he's almost a felon, so I guess I can recover from a few poor test grades. )
One Direction may win if you anayze everything but to the GP they're just the guys who sang that What Makes You Beautiful Song tbh. Justin is the bigger phenomenon. Still hate him though
I still like Lupita even if she is apparently a frigid bitch. Maybe she's just an Amazing Amy type of person. We all know them (like the one in my avatar).
The phone rings, echoing throughout the empty mansion. The bedroom doors to the balcony are wide open, and the curtains flutter in the midnight breeze. A figure sits silently on a wicker chair, staring blankly at the moonlight.
An assistant enters the bedroom, and looks out at Britney Spears' lonely form. He wonders what she must be thinking. It would be unusual for her to be contemplative or philosophical, especially at this time of night. The medication must be in its full throes by now, so she's probably completely paralysed. The assistant picks up the phone and heads out to the balcony. He stands in front of Britney and brings out a tissue. He wipes the drool from her open mouth, her glazed unfocused eyes do not stray from their position as he does so. The assistant puts the phone to his ear. "Hello this is Miss Spears' personal line, who may I ask is calling?"
"Hey it's Katy Perry, I just wanted to chat to Britney."
"Oh I'm afraid Miss Spears is unable to come to the phone right now." A moth flutters down onto the Baby One More Time singer's face, but she still does not move.
"Oh. Okay. Um, are you her PA? Could I talk to you then? This is personal."
"I'm legally responsible for responding on my client's behalf. What's the problem Miss Perry?"
"I was just wondering..." Katy hesitated, but then steeled herself. "What was it like when she worked with Dr Luke? Did he um, do anything? With her?"
There was a long pause. The assistant's mind drifted back to the sessions in the studio for the latest albums. Myah Marie would stand in the recording both, her back turned away from the scene behind her. The assistant would be wiping Britney's limp body clean, while Dr Luke dressed himself.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean Miss Perry. Dr Luke and Miss Spears have always had a professional relationship."
"Oh."
"Just as professional as his relationships with other artists, such as Kesha and Becky G."
Katy got the hint. "I see. I'm sorry I won't bother you again." She hung up and sighed. She guessed she would have to seek comfort from Valium yet again.
The assistant also hung up. He took a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his client. He would get the cleaning staff to put her to bed in an hour when it would be safe to move her.
As he left Britney alone again on the balcony, the singer remained as motionless as ever. Only in her mind did she move: out of the chair, up onto the railings and then into the sky. She imagined plummeting through the air and slamming hard onto the concrete below. And her troubles would finally be over.
With this image repeating over and over in her head, Britney finally cracks a crooked, narcotic smile.
I mean oh well. Chris Brown has a bigger career than Rihanna now and he's almost a felon, so I guess I can recover from a few poor test grades. 
l
Rachel needs to stop with the indie flicks and start whoring herself out for Hollywood again.
