Another day, another piece of news about broadcast television's slow, painful death rattle. It's no longer just primetime that's hemorrhaging: the big old networks are fighting battles in daytime, in news, and royally fucking up their once-sturdy late night empires.

Poor, deep-fried, wistful tiny car driver (and, I suppose, musician) Britney Spears has chosen her burial plot. It's located in the bittersweetly named Hollywood Forever Cemetery. After hearing about Marilyn Monroe picking her own grave site, the singer wanted to follow suit and "when Britney saw Rudolph Valentino's grave at the cemetery she shrieked and said she wanted one." Though, she doesn't plan on going there anytime soon. "I'm going to live so I want to be brought to the Forever Cemetery when I'm 101," she said, with devastating optimism, to a pal. We like to imagine that the service, before she is entombed in Hollywood Forever, will consist of mournful piano renditions of her hit songs like "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" and "Lucky," while her two sons, wearing sailor costumes, slowly waltz.