Here are the two things I don't get about this story:
1) Britney's convinced that the world hangs on her every flatulence. This we know. Yet -assuming this is indeed her home pregnancy kit- she doesn't pause for a moment... plastic strip dangling over the waste basket... to listen to the voice in her head that reedily whispers "Hey, no-talent skank,* maybe you should just take this little urinary souvenir home, and burn it on the 2nd floor hibachi. Hotel housekeeping is bound to go through our trash, and we can't be sure they'll be distracted by those balls of aluminum foil, crushed gerbils and half-eaten tofu pot stickers we dropped in there as a diversion. If someone finds this, they might clone us, and there'd be billions of Britneys fighting for our place on the pop charts, and using our hair brush... and we do not need that, do we skank? No one had better ever try to use our hair brush!"
2) Didn't the kindly folks at the Canadian Press bury the headline here? "Haunted cane?" That's the real story! Forget about Britney's pee... I wanna' curl up by the light of my SVGA monitor and hear the tale of the haunted cane! Why is it haunted? How did they determine that it is haunted, and not merely possessed? Was it a normal cane that only began manifesting paranormal behavior after they purchased it? Did they just think it was haunted, until one day an intrepid Golden Palace staffer snuck up on it... ripped it's mask off and cried "Mr Wynn!" laying waste to Steve Wynn's carefully-laid plans to drive Golden Palace stock into the ground with rumors of a haunted cane stalking it's corridors, terrorizing their web designers and virtually-tripping the elderly as they scrabble down from their barstool avatars in the online Keno lounge?
Keno? Keno? You know, I have a foolproof Keno sytem....
$5,000 urine stains... trasharrazi... spectral canes... Keno... it's a wonderful world.
*Little-known fact: the voice in Brit's head refers to her as "No-talent skank..." and it sounds just like James Garner.
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