Satisfying baby/ Let me show you what I'm made off/ No doubt about it/ Got me feelin' crazy/ Can't get enough.

Ah, that first wave of obedient blonde popstresses. As if an A&R exec had a vision of mall utopia one afternoon; a vision so bright and full of promise that he exclaimed, "Bring me the power players of the music industry! We've tired of exploiting sexually confused teenage boys with a forced regime of matching denim and Diane Warren ballads! Now is the time to exploit malleable teenage girls with pre-packaged Madonna-Whore complexes instead!" And thus they gathered, except Lou Pearlman, who they didn't invite (because he and his paedophile-prototype sweaty palms would have increased their therapy bills tenfold), and the evil plan was hatched.

Britney begat Christina, Christina begat Jessica, Jessica begat Mandy. So began the parade of blonde simpering and bouncy pop, wrapped up in wholesome, all-American sexualised feminine submissiveness. Girls wanted to be them, men wanted to do them. The good ol' days indeed.

Watching those first forays into pop immortality, who could have predicted where those girls have ended up? That school-girl fetish Ms Spears is now embarking on the most ill-advised procreation experiment since George Sr presented Barb with a double pack of Advil, (and she realized, with a sinking heart, that her failsafe 'Get Out of Sex' card was now redundant.) Christina, rolling in the sand so sweetly; who could have predicted the dizzying David LaChapelle heights she was to reach, thrusting in the shower? Jessica, of the innocently virginal 'Jack and Diane' sampling fame, now forced to eke out a living with her literal pimp Daddy booking her in for more surgery the minute she dares show expression.

And Mandy. Oh the twinkling naivete of this song, yet watching that under-age child pout come-hither, begging "Give it to me" with all the fierce desperation of a drugs-starved crack whore, I would have predicted she be the first to fall to the ravages of Oxycotin and wedlock birth; no more than an ABC Movie of the Week footnote on the pop pages of life. Yet a fetching brunette haircut and turgid MTV film later, and still she stands. No barefoot bathroom debacles, no questionable chaps and panties fashion decisions.

Still with the sweetly sinister drugs analogies, charming grin and upstandingly offensive Christian morals. I'm so proud.