THE TRAGEDY OF BRITNEY SPEARShaskptsFebruary 16 2008, 14:50:02 UTC
Not sure if the Britney article was finished (I only could see the cached version) Any way if not this is where you left off:
Federline gave Britney license to fully embrace her white-trash side - walking into a gas-station restroom barefoot, dumping ashtrays out hotel windows, wearing novelty tees like “I’m a Virgin, but this is an old shirt,” and, most notably, not strapping the kids into car seats. But he liked the high life, buying a $250,000 silver Ferrari with monogrammed rims and getting stoned in their home recording studio while cutting his rap album. “Kevin didn’t step up to the plate and be a man to Britney in their relationship,” says a close friend. “He was a boy to her, turning his back on her for his bros and that fame.” He made her feel a lot of her old insecurities - loneliness, fear of abandonment - sand she started partying and spiraling downward again, attributing her crying jags to postpartum depression. “When Britney had children, that should’ve been the end of her wild ways, and it wasn’t,” says a friend of Federline. “She turned into someone who only wanted to hear ‘yes,’ and if you’re not going to say it, get out of the way.”
MODS: I am typing this up and will update in blocks (I have about 2 and a half pages left to type up guys)
> NEW STUFF - THE REST OF THE ARTICLE HERE!!! > (Update Part 1)
Meat Pole wasn’t the one for Britney, and she asked him for a divorce by text message in November 2006. (His response: scrawling on the wall of the nightclub bathroom, “Today I’m a free man - Fuck a wife, give me my kids, bitch!”) She rehired Rudolph immediately, and took her ice-skating at Rockefeller Center in Manhattan for a photo op. But she wasn’t ready to be a little girl again. Night after night, she hit the L.A. scene lost, vomiting in public, exchanging clothes with a strip-club cocktail waitress, and perhaps most dangerously, hanging out with Paris Hilton - the two of them even splitting a pair of fishnet stockings, each wearing one leg, and she copied Paris’ cootchie-flashing stunts three times before Rudolph quashed their friendship (Paris’ nickname for Britney: “The Animal,” because she doesn’t think before she acts).
The Animal had to go to rehab: Eric Clapton’s Crossroads, in Antigua; but she stormed out one day later, flying to Miami and then coach-class to Los Angeles to see her family. She arrived at Federline’s house for her babies, but he had joined forces with Lynne and Rudolph, and wouldn’t talk to her until she registered at the Malibu rehab center Promises. She circled his house three times, furious at having to concede to their demands, before pulling into a random hair salon in the Valley and taking her hair off in big clumps, less as a penance than a liberation. Then she stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, driving around, sucking down dozens of Red Bulls, afraid that she was being followed by demons, or that a cell-phone charger was taping her thoughts, and obsessively listening to the radio for news about Anna Nicole Smith’s death earlier that month. That was her fate, she declared - she was next.
After rehab, Britney was deeply angry and cut out every person in her life who had argued for it - her parents, Federline, Rudolph, even her old best friends. She claimed not to have a drug problem, and stopped returning calls to her disloyal subjects, changing her phone numbers. “She was queen of the ghost moves,” says singer Keri Hilson, who did backup vocals and co-wrote “Gimme More.” “She’d be in the booth one second and then security would come get her, and we wouldn’t know she was gone.” Britney’s former bodyguard claimed in an interview with a British tabloid that she suffered a near-overdose with singer-songwriter Howie Day, whom she met at Promises, in a Los Angeles hotel room - the room was trashed, a glass pipe alongside a white substance that the bodyguard claimed was cocaine or meth.
Federline gave Britney license to fully embrace her white-trash side - walking into a gas-station restroom barefoot, dumping ashtrays out hotel windows, wearing novelty tees like “I’m a Virgin, but this is an old shirt,” and, most notably, not strapping the kids into car seats. But he liked the high life, buying a $250,000 silver Ferrari with monogrammed rims and getting stoned in their home recording studio while cutting his rap album. “Kevin didn’t step up to the plate and be a man to Britney in their relationship,” says a close friend. “He was a boy to her, turning his back on her for his bros and that fame.” He made her feel a lot of her old insecurities - loneliness, fear of abandonment - sand she started partying and spiraling downward again, attributing her crying jags to postpartum depression. “When Britney had children, that should’ve been the end of her wild ways, and it wasn’t,” says a friend of Federline. “She turned into someone who only wanted to hear ‘yes,’ and if you’re not going to say it, get out of the way.”
MODS: I am typing this up and will update in blocks (I have about 2 and a half pages left to type up guys)
> NEW STUFF - THE REST OF THE ARTICLE HERE!!! > (Update Part 1)
Meat Pole wasn’t the one for Britney, and she asked him for a divorce by text message in November 2006. (His response: scrawling on the wall of the nightclub bathroom, “Today I’m a free man - Fuck a wife, give me my kids, bitch!”) She rehired Rudolph immediately, and took her ice-skating at Rockefeller Center in Manhattan for a photo op. But she wasn’t ready to be a little girl again. Night after night, she hit the L.A. scene lost, vomiting in public, exchanging clothes with a strip-club cocktail waitress, and perhaps most dangerously, hanging out with Paris Hilton - the two of them even splitting a pair of fishnet stockings, each wearing one leg, and she copied Paris’ cootchie-flashing stunts three times before Rudolph quashed their friendship (Paris’ nickname for Britney: “The Animal,” because she doesn’t think before she acts).
The Animal had to go to rehab: Eric Clapton’s Crossroads, in Antigua; but she stormed out one day later, flying to Miami and then coach-class to Los Angeles to see her family. She arrived at Federline’s house for her babies, but he had joined forces with Lynne and Rudolph, and wouldn’t talk to her until she registered at the Malibu rehab center Promises. She circled his house three times, furious at having to concede to their demands, before pulling into a random hair salon in the Valley and taking her hair off in big clumps, less as a penance than a liberation. Then she stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, driving around, sucking down dozens of Red Bulls, afraid that she was being followed by demons, or that a cell-phone charger was taping her thoughts, and obsessively listening to the radio for news about Anna Nicole Smith’s death earlier that month. That was her fate, she declared - she was next.
After rehab, Britney was deeply angry and cut out every person in her life who had argued for it - her parents, Federline, Rudolph, even her old best friends. She claimed not to have a drug problem, and stopped returning calls to her disloyal subjects, changing her phone numbers. “She was queen of the ghost moves,” says singer Keri Hilson, who did backup vocals and co-wrote “Gimme More.” “She’d be in the booth one second and then security would come get her, and we wouldn’t know she was gone.” Britney’s former bodyguard claimed in an interview with a British tabloid that she suffered a near-overdose with singer-songwriter Howie Day, whom she met at Promises, in a Los Angeles hotel room - the room was trashed, a glass pipe alongside a white substance that the bodyguard claimed was cocaine or meth.
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