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Faust 3 or
Britney Spears: Black Metal Idol
By Troy Richter


“The world's great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn;
Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.”
~Percy Bysshe Shelly

“The world will end in a book.”
~Stephane Mallarmé

“I wouldn’t sell my soul
But I’d hang for this
I gotta get my goal
Cause I’d hang for this”
~The Jesus and Mary Chain
Part 1

Britney Spears was lying in her bath tub, listening to Burzum and smoking her sixteenth cigarette of a very long and boring day. It was still only seven o’ clock, and she didn’t get out of her stretched-garbage bag-covered bed until her usual three-thirty, but it had seemed like she had been lethargically trying to kill time for a month without sleep. All that she did throughout the days was listen to Black Metal, smoke and read variation after variation of her horoscope. These activities soothed her to a certain extent, but she was hoping that something could give her more than relief from the sad mess her life had become. She was hoping for a way out. Britney had become a very desperate young woman.

Pt. 2

Thoughts of suicide came to Britney a lot these days. She had actually tried to end her life a couple of times, and as bad as things were now for her, there were actually improvements now. Hope is easier for someone to channel when they have actually walked through the bleakest desserts of life for a significant amount of time. When a person fantasizes about suicide and they actually have a sense of hope, like Britney did now, the thoughts are just that: fantasy. Around the time that Britney stepped away from her career as a pop princess, she had taken up an interest in the connection between Romanticism and Rock n Roll. Britney had read somewhere that the most Romantic act was to create a work of promising genius in youth and to follow the work up with an untimely death. Britney then noticed that all of the musical artists that she admired at this time were suicides and romantic junkies: Ian Curtis, Darby Crash, Kurt Cobain, and Johnny Thunders. At the time, Britney really wanted to be a part of this world. She was sick of ‘living’ as an inauthentic commodity. She wanted to get out of her life as it was. She wanted to escape into the Romantic. As she lay here now, in her dilapidated bathroom, listening to the pure melancholy sickness of Burzum, she knew that if her life were to end now, she would continue to live forever as the commodity that she so much wanted to destroy. Suicide was no longer an option if she wanted to escape the bareness that her life had become.

Pt. 3

The phone rang. It was Iggy Pop. Iggy was the only one who understood Britney now. They could just talk for hours. They talked about art and life and death. Iggy had been encouraging Britney to try her hardest to do what he called 'penetrate the real.' He always brought up that Tom Sawyer interview with Charles Manson. He sent her the youtube link a couple of times. One of his favorite quotes of all time was when Charlie tells Tom "I play for real. You play for money." Iggy wanted Britney to start playing for real.


Pt. 4

Ain't it fun? said Iggy

Not really, responded Britney.

Ain't it fun when you know that you're gonna die young?

If it were I'd take a bottle of sleeping pills and drown myself in the toilet.

Well, if nothing is fun for you, if you can't make a decision that will bring you closer to happiness, then you need to make some drastic changes.

Like what?

I think you want something really powerful, but you do whatever it takes to deny it for yourself.

Well, what should I do?

You have such an incredible sphere of influence, you could do anything. You could change the world for the better, Britney. You could make it more fun. You could marry Heaven and Hell. You could make a better album than Raw Power.

Do you have James Williamson's email?



Yes.

Pt. 5

James Williamson had quit rock and roll shortly after he'd recorded Kill City with Iggy. The business had really put him off. Being a rock and roll musician was nothing like he dreamed it was like. He loved his favorite albums, but the world that conceived them was so hollow. He couldn't bare it. The people who paid him were heartless sociopaths.

A couple years ago, he had discovered two albums that at times would return him to the enthusiasm for music of his youth: Transylvanian Hunger by Darkthrone and Hvis Lyset Tar Oss by Burzum. He soon became obsessed with the sounds of the first and very idealistic wave of Norweigian Black Metal like he was once obsessed with the Chicago blues and The Rolling Stones.

Pt. 6

Well you should give me James Williamson’s email, Iggy. I bet that a collaboration with Britney Spears is exactly what he needs to get back into music again.

I don’t know. Maybe I should just give you his phone number. He’s more likely to believe that a phone call from Britney Spears is legitimate than an email.

I have an idea, Iggy: why don’t you call him for me?

Ah… he’d probably think I was trying to put him on a bad trip.

Doesn’t he know we’re friends?

Ah… no. No, he doesn’t know we’re friends.

Are you embarrassed of me Iggy??

Of course not, Brit. You’re the most intelligent, refined and sensitive person I know. We can just sit and talk about books, music and the fate of mankind for hours. I’ve really never known anyone like you before. I learn so much from you. It’s just that… uh… fuck…

What Iggy?? What are you trying to say??

Well, I worry about you. I mean I worry about your health and all that, but mostly I worry about you not reaching your potential. I really want you to be… I know you will be…

Oh Iggy!! Are you okay?? Are you crying??

I just… I just know… that you can save… you can save us all Britney!

Oh, Iggy, don’t cry… please don’t cry for me!

Everybody’s gotta cry for you Britney, everybody’s got to…


Pt. 7

Iggy had Britney worrying again. She knew she had a very fatal purpose in the world. Iggy had once sang about his own ‘death trip,’ but Britney felt that her own death was meant to be one of the most important acts in all of history. It was these feelings that were tearing her apart, and Iggy, the only person she trusted in the world, assured her that these feelings were anything but paranoia. Britney was doing whatever she could to cope with the knowledge that her own fate was explicitly connected to the fate of the whole world.

Iggy wanted Britney to keep all of her intensity. He would help her however much he could, but he didn’t want to subdue her feelings. Britney Spears’ feelings were crucial. They were truth. One day, everyone might feel again. But for now, Britney was alone. She was more alone than anyone in the whole world.

When she got off the phone, she went into her kitchen to get some stuff to puke. She drank three litres of milk and ate a half dozen cold wieners. She went into the bathroom to expel it all from her stomach. She wasn’t bulimic. She just really liked to puke. Puking is one of the things that people who feel that their death has meaning do to cope.

Pt. 8

Troy Richter knew he was the best poet of his generation, but he wasn’t arrogant or anything, not like Morrissey. He just loved to write. That’s how he experienced the world. His favorite thing to write about was celebrities. He was kind of like the Andy Warhol of poetry, only way smarter.

One night in October, Troy stayed up all night writing poems about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. He wrote about them because he thought it must be insane to be them. How could anybody live like that? It was so unreal. There’s no way they could like it. Troy was glad he was never going to get that famous. Poets don’t get that famous, because people think poetry is pretentious and boring. Then he looked at his guitar. Oh God, not the guitar. The guitar will make him famous. He resisted. It was best not to get good at guitar soloing or to do windmills. He tried reading Emily Dickinson instead, even though he didn’t understand her at all.

Pt. 9

Britney woke up in the morning and it was very strange. Not only was it morning, she also almost felt happy. She put GI by the Germs on her record player and made some coffee. She loved that album. She loved it since she was fifteen, but her mom made her pretend she hated it, along with everything else that she loved, so that she could make piles of money off of trash music and get her sister on a TV show.

It was the sickness of the Germs that she loved. The guitars were really garbagey and Darby Crash’s voice sounded like a bus station bathroom, if a bus station bathroom could sing. But the lyrics were beautiful. Britney wished she could write like that. She was a great guitar player, but not much of a poet.

Darby’s lyrics were just about nothingness and Britney could really relate. She felt a lot of guilt for her role in ruining everything true and real about the world, but records like this made her feel better. In “Manimal,” Darby says, ‘if I’m only an animal, then I can do no wrong.” Britney knew that the only thing she could do wrong was not dying the way she was supposed to die and living true to her own nature. After degrading herself and acting really stupid in front of thousands of people, she would always retreat back stage and put on a record like GI. She imagined herself doing what she really wanted to do. She thought about being herself and what that meant. She really wanted to be crawling around on that huge stage, maybe in broken glass, garbling the words to a song like “Manimal.” Even something like that had already been done, but not by Britney Spears. Maybe being Britney Spears was just a stage for her, and not a mistake that couldn’t be rectified. Maybe she was doing things exactly the way she was supposed to be doing them.

Pt. 10

In the afternoon, Iggy phoned Britney on the phone. He called to say that he had explained everything that was possible to explain to Williamson, and that the former Stooges guitar player was beyond intrigued.

Yeah Brit, said Iggy. James is really down. We should all get together soon, have a little meeting.

How are you guys gonna get over here?

I think we’re gonna teleport.

Ok. So I’ll see you in five?

Sure, see ya in five.

Pt. 11

Iggy Pop, James Williamson and Britney Spears were all gathered around Britney’s record player, drinking expensive red wine and listening to all kinds of Black Metal. Britney was thrilled that this was the type of music James was enthusiastic about now, too. Iggy was being introduced to most of it for the first time.

Britney: I can’t believe that you’re as into this stuff as much as I am, James. I grew up on the Stooges. I learned about the world as much as I did from your guitar playing as I did from Iggy’s lyrics. It’s just so crazy that we’re on this Black Metal trip at the same time.

James: I can’t believe that I just teleported into Britney Spears living room.

Britney: What do you think of all this stuff, Iggy?

Iggy: I don’t like the symphony shit. They sound like pussies. I like Burzum, Darkthrone and Bathory. They sound like pussy. Tragic pussy being pounded pussy.

Britney: I see what you mean; although, I might not describe it that way. Actually, I would.

James: I don’t like the symphony shit, either.

Britney: Yeah, Satyricon, Emperor and Dimmu Borgir are just too geeky and weak.

Iggy: Burzum makes me want to fuck myself. Dimmu Borgir makes me feel like I’m a little girl.

Britney: That wasn’t an insightful description, Iggy. You’re drunk. Stop trying so hard to act cool.

Iggy: I just hate this. I hate Emperor. I hate this wizard shit.

James: It’s kinda goth.

Britney: It’s almost as bad as the stuff the world will forever associate with me.

Iggy: I think it’s worse. I’d rather here “I’m A Slave 4 U” when I go for a burger than “I Am The Black Wizards.”

James: Me too.

Iggy: If the government forced us to listen to goth metal all the time. I think I’d offer to pay twice as much taxes so I could go back to being forced to hear Nickleback and you, Britney.

Britney: I definitely can’t agree.

James: We’ll fix things better for you Britney.

Iggy: You don’t gotta be damned unless ya wanna be damned.

Pt. 12

Iggy, James and Britney continued getting drunk and listening to Black Metal. Anton Alfred Newcombe from the Brian Jonestown Massacre was sent Britney Spears’ phone number in a dream by Charles Manson. So he called her up.

Britney: So he went to jail for burning churches and murdering a guy in another band…

Iggy: That’s wild. I mean, I would never go around stabbing guys in the forehead, but I guess someone’s gotta do it.

Britney: The phone’s ringing! Who could it be?? Could you get it Iggy?

Iggy: Sure, Brit…
Hello?

Anton: Hi, this is Anton, from the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Charlie told me to call Britney Spears and tell her that Nattefrost is a really, really fun band. They’re stupid, but sometimes stupid is an aesthetic thing that works really well.

Iggy: Okay. Sure. I’ll tell her.

Anton: Tell her to listen to Satanic Rites by Hellhammer, too. It’s really good. It’s amazing and it has swing. So does Nargaroth. Black n Roll is what some people call it.

Iggy: Yeah, okay.

Anton: Hey, would I be able to give her my soulseek name?

Iggy: She doesn’t download music. She orders everything on vinyl.

Anton: Hey, are you Iggy Pop?

Iggy: No, I’m Britney Spears’ butler.

Anton: Okay, because you sound like Iggy Pop.

Iggy: Sure buddy. I gotta go. I gotta finish cleaning Britney Spears’ bathroom.

Anton: That’s really cool.

Iggy: Bye.

Anton: Keep music evil!

Pt 13

After the nonsequential telephone call from Anton Newcombe, Britney decided that she was comfortable enough to show James some of the stuff she was coming up with on guitar. It encapsulated everything she loved and was passionate about since she was a little girl: from Venom to Nirvana, from the Germs to Burzum. It was really sick and heartwrenching stuff. It was definitely Black Metal, but it was very different. It was Black Metal as only Britney Spears could make.

James’ mind was blown. Iggy was pretty much passed out at this point, though.

Holy Christ, Britney Spears, said James. I couldn’t even play like that when I first got into scag. You are a fucking genius… like the Keith Richards of… of something… wow.

So you think it’s good, James?

Good? You fucking paralyzed me, Britney. I can’t fucking move.

So you’ll collaborate with me for sure, then.

No fucking way. I can’t even strum a G chord after hearing that. I feel like I’m completely impotent, but I just came three times… at the same time. I can’t play anything like that. I don’t think anyone can.

But I can’t do this on my own!

I can record you. I’d love to record you. But if I played a note, anything, it would just take away from your brilliance.

Ok. Because I really can’t do this on my own. I really can’t.

Pt. 14

Do you have lyrics, James asked Britney.

I can’t write lyrics. I like to ‘sing,’ in a Black Metal type of way, though.

Ok. Show me.

Britney played one of her evil, decadent riffs for a while. She started humming along, and sort of worked herself into a trance. Her humming became moaning, and slowly got more tortured. It was like if Varg Vikernes of Burzum was a Tibetan monk. Once again, James was amazed.

Wow, you can do it all, he said. You can do it like no one can.

Well, I can’t really do it all. I really would appreciate your help recording, and maybe Iggy can help me promote the record; I really want people to hear it, but I don’t care about money. But about lyrics… I love good lyrics. I read a lot, but I’m not much of a poet. I want to have good lyrics, though. I want to have great lyrics. I think that Black Metal is really romantic, as romantic as Byron and Novalis. I want to bring that sort of literary aspect to my music, but make it really contemporary. I want everything to be there: total art, total beauty, total sex and death… idealism and tragedy… everything. I’d ask Iggy to write lyrics, but I want something more lyrical, like if Byron or Shelley were writing today and they grew up on heavy metal and punk.

James thought about what Britney said, and then got up to go to her computer.

Mind if I use this, he asked. I want to show you something.

Sure, go ahead.

Okay, I found it.

What’s that? A Linda Blair fansite??

Yeah, just a second. I’ll show you something. Okay, here it is, the fan poetry forum. This is where fans send in poems about Linda blair, homeless animals, anything. Most of them are retarded, but check this one out. Here.

James opened up a poem by Troy Richter and showed it to Britney:


“Linda Blair”

I don’t know what it is about this great woman
who was Born Innocent,
kidnapped, raped and possessed.

I think it was the way she roller-skated
into Symbolic Exchange and Death
that really made her the best.

She is no longer helpless or messing around
with older boys or cocaine.
But she is not a holy empress who never feels pain.

Anna Kournikova looks better in short shorts now
but she never barfed as well.
Linda barfed better than the best
when she was only twelve.

Many great Beauties have barfed before.
and more will barf again.
One day The Last Beauty will barf.
but I am not sure when.

Wow, that’s really weird, exclaimed Britney. It’s weird that he’d post that on such a goofy website.

Maybe he thought it was funny, said James.

Maybe he’s insane, replied Britney.

Pt. 15

I actually found his blog, James told Britney. Here, look at this.

Wow. He writes a lot, exclaimed Britney. And what’s this, near the top. Hey, It’s my favorite KISS lyrics! “She’s a dancer/ A romancer/ I’m a Capricorn and she’s a Cancer/ She saw my picture in a music magazine.” It’s pretty hilarious when rock stars sing about being rock stars. I love self-reflexive poetry. Hmm… he writes some pretty cool stuff, himself.

Yeah, he’s actually pretty good. Sometimes he’s a baby, a drama queen, but I guess that’s to be expected.

Hey, what’s this? He made a post about me? I didn’t notice this. He says that I’m neat, but not that special. I guess I’m not surprised. Why would he even think I’m neat, though? He obviously doesn’t know the real me. He just knows me as a product. Just like the rest of the world.

I think he just likes celebrities.

Well that’s foolish. But pretty normal, I guess.

There’s a couple comments. Want me to open them?

Yeah, go ahead.

Hmm… someone made a comment saying that you have ‘untapped potential.’ And then he responds saying, “You could be on to something. She needs to stop playing for money and start playing for real.”

What?! What the fuck?! Holy shit! That’s what Iggy always tells me! It’s from a Charles Manson quote. This is so fucking weird, James. I have to read the rest of this fucking blog.


Pt. 16

Britney read all of Troy’s blog. Some posts were cooler than others, but some were very cool. She was very intrigued with this guy. He posted a lot of weird posts. One of her favorites was this one from May:


i met this angel in a dream last night.
her name was carol and she watches a lot of television.
she watches more television than me.
she's too lazy to even search for neat things on youtube.
her favorite show is vh1's behind the music.
she also likes that show called "listed."
you know, that show where they list the sexiest men in music
and the sexiest women in music and the greatest musicians who died young;
she watches those shows over and over.
i guess you can imagine that she has a weak sense of history.
actually, she's an angel, she has no concept of history.
she leaves all of the thinking to evil smart people like marilyn manson.
being smart is wicked.
the truth about the world is wicked.
all that she knows is the truth about god:
it's not complex,
it's very simple.
it's simple like being born, going to school, getting a job, getting married, and raising children.
so why does she watch vh1?
contemporary music and consumer culture is just background noise for her.
she watches that music channel because it stops her head from being flooded by the crazywave.
the crazywave started a few years ago but it's nothing now to what it will be.
when the crazywave gets going, the world will look like the cover of iron maiden's number of the beast album.
it will be fantatsic and absurd.
it will look cool.

back to the angel.
i kind of went off on a tangent.
the angel told me that all of her girlfriends in heaven are being treated by psychiatrists.
she told me that angels are slowly becoming schizophrenic and some of them think that good is evil and evil is good.
most of them can't decide and live fantastic and absurd nightmares.
the angel told me to write down on my blog a warning.
she told me to warn everybody that the medications aren't working in heaven,
and that soon they won't work on earth.
she told me to warn everybody it will be harder and harder to find order and familiarity down hear in the world.
she told me it will get worse and worse and that she is possessed by black fucking metal and that it is hard to sleep.
she told me that all of our lives will become experimental and avant garde and that the world will be like the cover of iron maiden's number of the beast album art for a long, long time.
she told me that all we can do is ride the lightning.

riding this thing that we started with our free will (if we got it) for some brilliant, ancient reason is all we can do.

Britney thought this was a fun post. It was the first time she felt like headbanging to poetry. The Heavy Metal references were really cool. Britney actually got a Number of the Beast poster for her bedroom when she was twelve and “Ride the Lightning” was probably the coolest name for an album ever. But what was this ‘Crazywave’? It was mentioned a lot on his blog. Also, he talked about beating up Marilyn Manson. Did he really do that? And did he really know Vladimir Putin? There was so much that Britney wanted to know about this guy.

She decided she had to meet him. She would fly over in her spaceship in the morning.

Pt. 17

It was a Saturday morning. Troy Richter was alone in his apartment looking at pictures on Facebook of people socializing the night before. This was almost as interesting to him as looking at pictures of Paris Hilton getting wasted. Almost, but not quite.

He was feeling right now that non-celebrities were the most boring people in the world. They were just trying to imitate the real thing, and doing a poor job at it. Of course celebrities were all shallow, but at least they were the real deal. Why couldn’t a movie star or a talk show host just walk into his life and spice it up?

Just then Troy heard a ring on his doorbell.

Pt. 18

Troy opened the door. It was Britney Spears. She said she read his blog and had to meet him. Troy always knew this would happen. Always.

He invited her inside immediately.

So who are you? I mean who are you really Britney Spears? I know you’re not that piece of trash who kissed Madonna on TV. I know that nobody’s that dumb and trashy.

Actually, everyone’s that dumb and trashy, Troy. That’s why I make so much money. Do you ever leave your apartment?

Not really, but I have a Facebook account. I read what people write on each other’s walls and look at pictures of them getting drunk together. That’s all I need to feel connected. Anyways, I’m so glad you came to visit me. You’re actually the celebrity I’m obsessed with the most right now.

Why are you obsessed with me?

I mean who are you? Do you actually like the music you make? I know you can’t. People only listen to your music because they want to fuck you or they want to get fucked by someone who wants to fuck you. No one can like that trash, no one can. It makes me feel the same way I’d feel if someone put contact microphones in a crackwhore’s vagina and my dad did it with her. Disgusting! Gross! Oh yuck! But I know you’re not really like that. I don’t know why. I just have a feeling.

Well maybe you’re right, Britney said coyly.

Troy went to his computer and brought up his iTunes. He put on “War” by Burzum and played it loud.

Hey, what do you think of this, Britney Spears, he challenged her.

That’s actually one of my favorite Burzum songs, but my favorite is Det Som En Gang Var, Britney answered cooly.

So you like Burzum and you like my blog and you’re Britney Spears, Troy said teetering between imperviousness and and bewilderment.

Let’s go for a walk, Britney Spears, he then stated with cheerful resolve.

Pt 19.

Troy and Britney walked around the Dalhousie and Kings’ campuses. They were really hitting it off. They liked a lot of the same books and their tastes in music were literally carbon copies of each other.

See that tree over there, said Troy. That’s where I lied down on my first day of University and read Dice Thrown by Mallarmé. I really loved it. It was so fun to read, but I think I’m only starting to understand it now. Let’s go sit under that special tree.

They sat under the tree and talked some more.

So you want to make a Black Metal album, asked Troy. Why?

Because I think it’s the most romantic music in the world.

I think I do, too, said Troy.

It’s just so sick and broken, but grandiose, continued Britney. It’s nostalgic. It glorfies nature and solitude. It builds a cult around power and genius. I think it’s beautiful.

Hey, want to get a sausage with me, Troy asked excitedly.

I’d love to, exclaimed Britney.

Pt. 20

Britney went with Troy to get a sausage from the Dawgfather. He was as friendly as ever and started chatting right away.

Dawgfather: Hey Troy! When you gonna get in the ring with Marilyn Manson?

Troy: Oh, I don’t know, Dawgfather. As soon as more people start linking to my blog. Maybe the poseur’ll read it some day and see that I want to fight him.

Dawgfather: Yeah, I don’t like that guy. I’m not sure if you could take him, though. You’d have to really watch for his reach. Oh excuse me, are you with this chump?

Britney: Yeah, I’m with Troy. I don’t think he could beat Marilyn Manson up, either, but he’s prettier.

Dawgfather: Ohh… does that embarrass you, chump? It better.

Troy: Yeah, it embarasses me.

Dawgfather: What’s your name, miss?

Britney: Britney Spears. I came to visit Troy in my spaceship.

Dawgfather: That’s really sweet, Britney. My sister-in-law is Vulcan, she’s actually Spock’s second cousin, if you can believe that, and she has the most beautiful space ship I’ve ever seen; I mean, it’s gorgeous, it’s got the most breathtaking flower garden growing out of its brain and you can see Napoleon giving a speech to his battallions from the top of a cliff in one of the petals; in another, you can see Pierre Trudeau making fun of Queen Elizabeth II; you can see pretty much anything, you can see anyone’s Facebook profile; it just goes on and on for miles and miles and never ends… here’s your sausage.

Troy: Thanks, Dawgfather. Your sausages are possibly the best in this part of reality.

Dawgfather: You’re welcome. You kids have a lovely day and be careful playing around with reality.

Britney: We’ll try our best! It was nice meeting you!

Pt. 21

Troy and Britney walked around Halifax together. They had a lot to say to each other.

While Britney was walking, she would sometimes swing one foot far ahead of the other and awkwardly try and step over a sidewalk crack. One time she did this and Troy put his hand on her belly to stop her and he leanded in to kiss her.

Oh Troy! I’ve never been happy in my whole life. But right now, it would be impossible to be even the slightest bit happier! I can’t believe I met you.

Troy always knew he would meet Britney, but he decided it was best not to say it.

They went back to his apartment to hang out some more.

Pt. 22

When they got back to his place, Britney brought up her dream of making a black Metal album, again.

Troy, I really love your writing and I’d like you to help me with this album. You can help me with the lyrics. You can write anything you want. I like the way you think. You also mentioned that you started playing drums. It would be amazing if you could do that, too. We could be a band! We could be like Darkthrone! You and me!

I don’t know, I’m not really good at drums. I’d like to help you, but I don’t know.

But when Varg Vikernes recorded the first Burzum record, he had only been playing drums for about a month. I love that it sounds so raw and untutored. I don’t think it matters how much skill you have. Your attitude is perfect to me and that’s what’s most important.

Well, if you want to be in a band with me, I guess I can’t really say no. I’m really excited but I’m not sure if I’m good enough.

Of course you’re good enough! Hey, can we make a song out of the Linda blair poem?

I guess so. It would make for really weird Black Metal lyrics.

That’s exactly what I want!

Pt. 23

Britney and Troy hung out in his apartment for the rest of the day. Britney showed Troy the songs she had written and Troy came up with lyrics for a few of them. As day turned into night, they grew very close to each other. A lot was said, but there were certain feelings that were acknowledged only with awkward silence.

During one of these awkward silences, Troy decided to break it by talking about fame:

Sometimes I’d like to be famous like you but when I see the possibilities of it happening, I get really scared. Really scared. And then I think ‘why do I get scared? This is what I want. It’s not like there’s really a whole lot more to life.’ But I don’t want to lose myself. Sometimes I do and it’s fun, but it’s most fun when it’s real. I feel real when I’m writing something outrageous. I want to write something hilarious and beautiful. Fame inspires me, but sometimes it distracts me. Sometimes I think I’d like to be a famous writer like Samuel Beckett or Stephen King and be friends with Crispin Glover and Harold Bloom. Sometimes I think it would be awful and it would be best to just write all the time in total obscurity like Emily Dickinson.

Do you think that Emily Dickinson’s life was romantic and glamorous, asked Britney.

Of course, Troy answered.

Why don’t you look at your own life. It’s at least as romantic as Emily Dickinson’s. Maybe even more.

You sure know how to make me feel the way I want to feel, Britney Spears.

THEY PUT ON BLACK METAL IST KRIEG BY NARGAROTH AND MAKE-OUT LIKE CRAZY.

Pt. 24

In the middle of the night, Troy got up to look at pictures of Britney on the Internet. Why would he do that when the real Britney was sleeping in his bed? Maybe he was some kind of sick…

Pt. 25

Troy saw Britney to her spaceship the next morning. They were both very excited about the future.

Ok, so I’ll see you at James’ studio in a couple days, Britney said with a big smile.

Sure, sure. I can’t wait, said Troy.

Oh yeah. I wanted to ask you something, Troy. What’s ‘Crazywave?’

Oh, it’s just a silly word, said Troy. A silly word that I wrote on my blog so I could meet you.

You’re really fucking clever, Troy.

And you can play guitar like a motherfucker, Britney.

Man! I can’t believe this is actually going to happen! I really can’t!

They kissed good-bye and Britney went home.

Pt. 26

The recording for the Britney Spears Black Metal album was going great. They recorded ”Linda Blair” in only a couple hours. Then Troy decided to take a break.

Britney: What are you doing, lying on the couch and eating Skittles, Troy? We have a lot more work to do to finish this album.

Troy: Yeah… about the album… why don’t we just make a single for now…

Britney: What? A single?? This is a Black Metal project! Not a pop group!

Troy: I just think… it would be best to start with a single… and drumming is a lot harder than I thought it would be…

Britney: I don’t believe you Troy Richter! You are so fucking lazy!!

Troy: I’m not lazy! I swear to God! I’m a perfectionist!

James: Well, what do you want to do for the B-side, if we do a single?

Troy: Let’s just use a different mix of the song: crank up the bass and add reverb to Britney’s vocals.

Britney: YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLE!! I HATE YOU!!

Troy: Oh cry me a river!

Britney: WHAT??

Troy: Nuthin!

Pt. 27

Eventually Troy and Britney patched things up. Britney agreed to do a single, but they also recorded another song, “War” by Burzum. They spent a few days hanging out and just watching TV. Troy really wanted Britney to help him meet Dog the Bounty hunter and possibly be chased by him on one of his shows.

Pt. 28

Britney hadn’t seen Iggy in a while. Not since she met Troy and got happy. Iggy called her on the phone and said he wanted to see her. He sounded weird. Britney was a little worried.

Pt. 29

Britney and Iggy were standing around in Britney’s kitchen. Iggy was so tense. It made Britney tense.

So you’re really making a scene with your new friend, Iggy said cruelly, his starring eyes cold and his arms shaking.

What do you mean, begged Britney.

You know who I’m talking about. Do you like him more than me?? Is he better than Iggy Pop??

Iggy, don’t do this! You’re my friend! This is fucked up!

Why do you like him so much?? Do you think he’s more talented than me??

Iggy!!

Well?? Tell me the truth?? Stop playing me for a fool.

Ok, yeah, I think he’s more talented than you! I mean, what have you done since New Values?!

Then why don’t you just fucking kill me! Because that’s the most important thing you’ll ever have the opportunity to do! You’ll never be great! Not like me! So put this fucking butcher knife into a fucking genius’ skull!

SO SHE DID IT. BRITNEY SPEARS MURDERED IGGY POP. IT REALLY HAPPENED. IN THIS STORY. HIS BRAINS WERE ALL OVER THE FLOOR. HE WAS SO DEAD. BRITNEY WAS CRYING. SHE WAS CRYING SO HARD. SHE WASN’T HAPPY ABOUT LIFE ANYMORE. SHE JUST KILED IGGY POP. HIS BRAINS WERE ALL OVER HER KITCHEN FLOOR.

Pt. 30

Troy saw on the news what happened. It was probably the craziest murder in the history of the world. He saw that Ben Mulroney, the King of North America wanted Britney to be crucified immediately for killing such a great guy. It was crazy, but he couldn’t deny that it was very, very interesting.

Troy turned off the TV and really thought about what he just saw. He didn’t think that Britney killing Iggy was the best idea, but it happened, and nothing could change that. Where it once would have been unfathomnable, beyond absurd and just plain funny, it was now officially categorized amonst ‘the way things are.’ And the way things are seem to be always fascinating.

Troy didn’t pass judgment on Britney. Maybe Iggy really wanted her to do it all along, like Judas wanted Jesus to kiss him on the cheek. The things people really want are always strange and always beautiful.

Troy decided he would be there for Britney at her crucifiction. It was the least he could do. She did mean a lot to him, and she did inspire this story to a great extent. Britney Spears, what a cool muse! We’ll miss you!

Pt. 31

Britney Spears Crucifiction Review
Napoleon Bonaparte
Rolling Stone Magazine

All that you heard today, if you were anywhere near a television set, the Internet, or the Crucifiction site itself, was “We Will Fall,” from the first Stooges album.

Today was the strangest day in the history of the planet, but many pundits are suggesting that there are many stranger ones to come.

People came here to mourn for Iggy Pop. People came here to watch Britney Spears die. None of us will be the same again. We have finally lost our innocence. We might’ve thought we lost it before, but now it’s gone for sure.

As for the star of the show, she seemed to be trying to stay alive for as long as possible. She was holding on. I watched her scanning the crowd, then she fixed her eyes in a certain direction. It seemed that she was looking at Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas, who was there with a young man who was starring at a magazine with Fergie on the cover.

Britney puked. She puked harder than anyone has ever puked before and then she died.

Today was insane.

Pt. 32

Troy and Fergie decided to go down to Britney’s tomb three days after she was crucified to see if she had risen from the dead or anything.
Her body was still there. It stank a bit, and was covered in puke, but she was very much dead. All that was left of her was her legend. All that was left of her were Troy’s memories of a brief, flawed, but true love, that he would write about in October 2007 to raise money for his radio show. But most importantly, there was the Linda Blair single. It would be remembered as the Rebel Without A Cause of Black Metal. And Britney would be the James Dean of Crazywave. She would be forever Delightfully Immortal.