Britney Spears gave her delinquent Vancouver fans more than they bargained for when she stopped mid-performance and left the stage for 45 minutes. The rowdy audience had created an “uncomfortable and unsafe” atmosphere for Spears and her dancers. How? By lighting up, of course! Cigs, marijuana, crack– you name it, they smoked it. After all, why would you pay up to $500 bucks to see Britney Spears if you’re not smoking something? It’s like spending an hour trying to sync Wizard of Oz with a Dark Side of the Moon record, because it’s “more authentic that way”. You wouldn’t do it normally, except that you’re high.
Smoking weed in Vancouver is like jay-walking in America. If my last trip to Somalia taught me anything, it’s don’t go to other people’s countries and tell them how to live, or they will become blood thirsty pirates that rape our American hero sea captains– the last of a dying breed. When Britney performs in the Green Light District, she can’t be like, “You over there! With the brass knuckles! Stop fisting that baby!” I mean, it’s their culture. You can’t be so intolerant when travelling to foreign lands like Amsterdam or Canada. That’s how America gets a bad rap.
So anyway, Brit had a tantrum about the pot smoking, which is surprising considering rumors of her reconciliation with K-Fed, who resembles every half-rate weed dealer IÂ encountered during high school (wifebeater… gold chain… unsightly facial scruff, the usual). In a fit of diva proportions, she stewed backstage. “I am a world famous pop star with millions of fans. There are probably children here, children like wee little Jayden and (insert other kid’s name here). I wonder what those two are up to right now? Jayden hasn’t drunk texted me in like, two weeks! I miss those crazy kids. Oh yeah, but who the fuck is smoking pot at my concert?”
Smokin's for losers, ya'll.
So Ms. Spears, ripe with morals, rode back on the stage, her high horse brayin’ and nayin’, and she gave her now-sober-and-annoyed fans the performance they paid for. When it was over, the fans chanted “Hit Me Baby, One More Time!” That’s all they wanted. They weren’t asking for much. But the fans didn’t get no encore, oh no. Not today. Brit chose to close the show with some choice last words. Some say she thought of her commencement address on the spot; others argue her emotional farewell was too poetic, too articulate to be delivered off-the-cuff. “Don’t smoke weed! Rock out with your cocks out! Peace, motherfuckers!” Seriously, she said that. And all the children in the audience, their eyes finally clearing from their aborted smokefest, their buzz most certainly killed, began to cry.
