The Blush is Off the K-Fed



The warm, fuzzy, enveloping media blush that once ensorcelled Fed-Ex like a nimbus cloud hovering about a Giotto Saint has finally faded, tragically, like Spanish Indigo (A dismissing wave). The Papazao has lost its "Zao."

K-Fed seemed to make the right night moves with regards to his children as Briney's sanity disintegrated spectacularly, but, alas, eventually the Greed issue would rear its ugly head -- and in such unpalatable trailer trash ways. We expected so much more from K-Fed. From those intrepid Page Sixxies:

"AFTER his ex-wife Britney Spears had a major meltdown, Kevin Federline insisted he wanted to stay out of the press. Now the Super Bowl commercial star is asking for tabloid coverage, and he wants big bucks in return. Insiders told us Federline has been asking the weeklies for $25,000 in exchange for 'exclusive' rights to cover his 29th birthday at Eleven nightclub in West Hollywood."

Class move, doucheberry. Perhaps we are to blame thinking, against all hopes, that K-Fed's background as an ass-shaker and his terrible fertile energies would ultimately disspiate, leaving "Mr. Sangfroid" in its wake. At the end of the day, he is --as always -- naught else but K-Fed, the amazing, impregnating gimp; sadly, the sum conclusion of his social beginnings.