Today is the day to eat that sand-covered piece of gum.

So Britney Spears and Kevin Federline are divorcing. I'm really sad about it, and not because I give a crap about their particular marital union (and you knew those kids were going to get messed up no matter what happened.)

I'm sad because it felt like Kevin Federline did to Britney what Bobby Brown did to Whitney Houston--reveal the beast within. Sure, the thin, blonde, coiffed Britney may be more pleasant to behold, but I for one liked the fat, messed up, mascara-clumped, messed-up hair version of Britney. Maybe it was just Schadenfreude. Or maybe it was because looking at the gross Britney felt like I was looking in the mirror. No, it was just fun to see a former pop tart fall from grace.

The world is simply more fun with disastrous celebrities. What would we be talking about if not for Tom Cruise jumping around or Tara Reid's boob popping out? They make us feel better about ourselves, but mostly just because it makes us see how celebrities really look without teams of handlers and stylists and managers. They look like us, only worse.

So, as a human being, I'll be happy if Britney's life improves. But I really enjoyed watching a slim-to-no-talent pop tart slum around for a little bit.

There's always hope for a reconciliation and a third kid in two years though, right?