So yesterday I'm at my weekly meeting of *NEBRIATED: People Who Drink and Like *NSYNC. And when it's my turn to speak, I stand and say, "Hello. My name is Wm.™ Steven Humphrey." At this point there's always some light applause. "Fellow *NEBRIATERS, I stand before you today with a heavy heart," I say to the group. "I have a confession to make." Then, pausing for dramatic effect, I drop the bomb.

"I think *NSYNC stinks."

A gasp rises from the crowd, and then shouts of "BLASPHEMER!" mix with "TRAITOR!" and "YOU CALL THIS A GIN AND TONIC?"

"ENOUGH!" booms a voice that silences the throng. The Grand Exalted Wizard of *NSYNCOPATION rises to his feet, and points a shaking finger at me. "In some chapters you could be killed for uttering such treachery... yet I will hear you out. Why do you--hic!--betray *NSYNC?"

Taking a slug from my bottle of Pepe Lopez, I look my aged master right in the eye. "Because, my lord... they betrayed us first!" Another gasp is quickly silenced by our leader. "Go on.... " he says, tapping his fingertips together.

"I seriously doubt there's a questionably straight male in this room who loves *NSYNC more than myself," I say. "However! Let's face facts. Not only is Justin Timberlake recording a SOLO ALBUM, but he dumped Britney Spears to go out with Janet Jackson! I mean, c'mon. If they marry, will that make him 'MR. Nasty'?" I get some murmurs of agreement for that one.

I continue: "But most blatantly, there's the 'Lance Bass Problem.' [A cocktail waitress leans over to ask, "Which one is Lance Bass?" "He's the GAY-looking one." "Ahhhhhh.... "]

"Sure, it was easy enough to ignore his ridiculous movie career," I say, "but now he's working on his own TV show called Celebrity Mission: Lance Bass--in which he actually flies into SPACE!"




"That's right," I say with a smirk. "Our own Lance Bass, paying 20 million smackers to spend 10 days on a Russian space station--not to mention the months he'll spend training. Months he could've spent ENTERTAINING US!!"

"YEAHHHHHH!!" the crowd screams.

"So you shee, my brothers," I say, tipsy from tequila and power, "Are we to wait for *NSYNC to abandon us completely? Let us remove our shackles, say 'Bye-bye-bye' to *NSYNC, and get to the real business of this organization--gargling liquor UNTIL WE PASS OUT!!"

"HOO-RAH!" yells the crowd. And though we'll miss Lance and JC and Justin and Chris and that old guy with the beard, we are all moving on to a better "space." A space that may not have Russians--but at least it has a whole lot of vodka.