Roses are red, violets are blue. I'm gonna swear.

And I fucking am too.

It's January 28th, it's January 28th, 2008.

It's been three weeks since Brittany got out of the hospital after her first 51-50 psychiatric hold.

Now she's hanging out at her new boyfriend's house. His name is Adnan Gleeb. He's this

English guy with spiky hair and this goatee thing on his chin. Actually it's

not even really a gotee. It's like this thin stripe of hair that runs from the bottom of his lip down his chin.

I'm not really sure what that's about.

I think it's called Style. Ever heard of it?

Oh, okay, no, I'll look that up later anyway they

started dating a month ago but they've known each other for a while because get

this Adnan is a paparazzo He's one of the guys who used to follow Brittany everywhere.

Wait what? Explain please. Yeah, it does seem odd. One magazine will actually call it Stockholm Syndrome.

I'm going to quote here, they say she has a self-created relationship with the paparazzi

and that she has been chased for so long that she has come to not only accept them but need them in her life.

They say the PAPS, help change her tires, pump her gas, and give her directions when she's lost.

And oh, get this, she seems to be basking in the attention and she seems to be trapped.

Okay, I'm still hung up on the self-created relationship part of that quote.

That implies she had a choice in

whether she was followed around by dozens of cameraman? Yeah I know I thought about that.

I think every celebrity has to figure out what kind of relationship they're going to have

with the tablets. I mean they're going to have with the tabloids.

...