Britney: No One Will Make a Sex Tape with Me!

HOLLYWOOD, CA – Britney Spears surprised the paparazzi last night when they followed her into an all-night Krispy Kreme, and, instead of her acting like their existence was true only in theory, she turned to them, and said: “You know why I’m at a donut shop at one o’clock in the fucking morning? ‘Cause no man will make a sex tape with me!”

Britney ordered a round of donuts and coffee for everyone, including the non-paparazzi member sitting at the end of the counter, a guy named Kenny Crennel, who was trying to sober up before going home to hook his wife up to a dialysis machine.

There were, in all, seventeen guys sitting on stools, sixteen cameras (eight of which were video), the Krispy Kreme associate taking the order, a woman with a name tag that read Mercedes, who spoke no English, and, presiding over this ragtag bunch, Britney Spears.

“Guys, I’m in a rut, as you know. Fuck, if anyone knows, it’s you guys. I mean, you followed me here in the middle of the night.”

“I think we’re all in a rut, Brit” said a pear-shaped paparazzi. “I once had dreams of being the next Ansel Adams – and look at me, taking pictures of some over-the-hill tart eating a jelly-cream donut. No offense.”

“None taken,” answered Spears, as she lit a cigarette. “Getting back to what I was saying. I need to make a sex tape. It seems to do the trick. Look at what it did for my girl, Paris Hilton. And she doesn’t even have any talent – well, except for sucking cock. I learned a lot from watching her do Rick Salomon.”

“What,” said the newest member of the parasitic picture-taking entourage, “didn’t you and K-Fed ever do it in front of the camera?”

“Dude, we tried, trust me. But Kevin ain’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. He could never get the camera to work right. As for me, fuck, I’m Britney Spears – enough said. “

“I doubt your kids will be nuclear physicists,” added someone.

“Do ya think?” cracked Britney, provoking laughter all along the snack counter. “The thing is, everyone’s doing it and somehow it helps their career, even people like Paris’ rich friend, Kim Kardashian, who none of us are really sure what her career is. It’s crazy. I’ll never be taken seriously as a whore until I do it on tape.”

“How ‘bout Pam Anderson?” said the only paparazzi without a goatee. “She’s made two of them, one with Tommy Lee and the other with Bret Michaels, the guy from Poison. Seems that whenever she needs a career boost, she just sets up the tripod and fucks the brains out of the skankiest guy she can find, and then acts offended when the tape hits the internet. I predict she’ll be the first celebrity to come out with a box set of her sexploits.”

The veteran of the bunch, the photographer with the grayest goatee, said: “Brit’s right. It is crazy. I remember when a video of a starlet, or pseudo-starlet meant the end of her career, if not her life, especially if she were a socialite. Christ, if Brooke Astor had been filmed slurping a giant schlong, do you think she would have hosted all those Manhattan charity balls? If she were in her prime now, jeez, it would be a different story! ‘Oh, Brooke, dahling, I love the tape of you getting your pussy hammered by Jack Dempsey, and of course I’ll come to your pahty to help fund the new Yale library.’”

“What I don’t get?” said Britney, exhaling smoke into the face of Mercedes, who was just then wiping down the counter. “Eva Longoria. She doesn’t even make a sex tape and still gets credit for it. First she stars in Desperate Housewives, then marries Tony Parker, and now she has a sex tape. She’s the luckiest girl in the world.”

There was a noise at the end of the counter, a burp from Kenny Crennel. “Excuse me,” said the husband of the dialysis patient. “But while you’re all looking at me, can I –hic – make a suggestion?”

“This is an open forum,” said the veteran. “Shoot.”

“We got, what, fifteen, twenty guys here with cameras, right? Well, Brit, you can suck my dick right now and tape it. Just make it quick. My wife’s kidneys will fail in one and a half hours if I don’t get home.”

Britney sprayed coffee from her mouth, and laughed, as did everyone else, save Kenny and Mercedes, the latter of whom was nonetheless grateful to have dodged the mist of java. “Thanks, dude, for the thought, but, if you remember from my last performance at the Grammys, my body isn’t looking sex-tape worthy these days.”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” said a paparazzi, with a tattoo of a gerbil on his neck. “Tanya Harding made a sex tape and put it on the net. And I wouldn’t fuck her with Kenny’s dick.”

“What’s wrong with my dick?” slurred Kenny. “All right,” said Britney. “Say I wouldn’t mind doing it right here, right now with one of you guys. But what makes a celebrity sex tape is that the guy is hung like a rhino and he’s one of those bad boys. Now none of you are bad boys. So that leaves the hung like a rhino part. Well, boys, which one of you can give Tommy Lee a run for his drug money?”

The guys all shifted on their stools, their heads down, peaking glances to see who would put their sausage on the counter for inspection.

“I do,” said a volunteer, who stood up, pulled down his pants and aired the evidence.

Mercedes almost fell backward into the iced coffee maker, her eyes wide with wonderment, as she didn’t need an English translator to interpret the meaning of a humungous dick. All the guys looked at the purple-piss-pump in question, then shook their heads in collective defeat.

“But, Alan,” said Britney, frowning, “aren’t you gay?”

“Gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

“So we’re back to square one. Then again, all you guys live in my bedroom closest, right? Maybe I can invite Tommy Lee over, and get fifteen different sex tapes with just one sexual act. Fuck, that would put my career back over the top. It would be worth the herpes.”

At 2:00AM, in a Krispy Kreme, everyone raised their coffee in a toast to the resurrection of Britney’s career and her contraction of a sexually transmitted disease from a man to whom people gave money because they had seen his freakishly big dick on a sex tape that he, Tommy Lee, once carelessly downloaded onto the internet, while no doubt saying, “Whoops, my career as a washed up drummer just got a lift.”