You’ve probably sensed it. Or felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Or at the very least smelled something a little funky.



It’s true. If you’re picking up this edition of the Weekly Volcano on its Thursday release date, Britney Spears is, in fact, in Tacoma. She’ll be bringing her train wreck of silicone and broken dreams — known as the Circus Tour — to the Tacoma Dome tonight.



Knowing no paper in town — not even a rag with the righteous ethical standards of the Weekly Volcano — could pass up an opportunity to put Spears’ celebrity stained mug on its cover, we decided to seize the moment and offer you, our reader, a Britney Spears Issue like no other. This way, like the others, we can help you get your Britney Spears fill and, if we’re lucky, down the road serve as masturbatory fodder for 13-year-old boys.

It’s a win/win.



Since Spears is in Tacoma and surely needs something to occupy her time besides constant runs to Starbucks for 36-ounce iced coffee drinks, I asked the esteemed Weekly Volcano staff to offer the Southern Pop Meltdown Machine a few suggestions about ways she could spend her time while in the City of Destiny.



What should Spears do in Tacoma? How would it go down? We offer our thoughts on the subject below. — Matt Driscoll

Britney takes a tour of the Nalley Valley

You may think Spears and K-Fed are on the outs, but sources state that he still hooks her up with the ganga from time to time. Don’t judge her. Heck, how else is she supposed to shake off the stresses of celeb-life?



After a night of smoking with three of her most trusted friends — her personal assistant, nanny, and private dog washer — Spears might develop a case of the munchies so severe that not even the largest midnight run for Fudgsicles and Chips Ahoy could conquer it. In this scenario, it would be Nalley pickles Spears wants, so it’ll be Tacoma’s Nalley Valley she wants to see. Or so she will think.



Upon arriving in the Nalley Valley, she’ll discover that Nalley pickles are no longer made in the Pacific Northwest, but instead produced in the country of India. Spears is then likely to blow up in a fit of hysterics and be heard screaming down Center Street, where Tacoma Police will probably pick her up for disturbing the peace. Later she will release a statement saying, “All’s I wanted, y’all, was to see the little men packing little gherkin pickles into those little pickle jars.” — Steph DeRosa

Spears at Knapp’s

Girl, what you need is a good home-cooked meal. I’d have you over for some of my world-famous tater tot casserole — might even crunch some Corn Flakes on top to make it extra special — but, well, my wife’s kind of funny about stuff. We just got this new couch, see.



Anyway, how about Knapp’s? It’s the next best thing. My grandma works there. Well, not actually my grandma, but an old German woman who does one hell of a good impression, I tell you what. Calls me Shnookums, gripes about her aches and pains, beams with pride when I finish all of my Monday night meatloaf — the whole bit. There won’t be any paparazzi. None of those Dr. Laura-types looking down their noses. Nope. The folks at Knapp’s will be far too occupied staring into the abysses of their own miserable lives to bother paying any mind to yours. — Mark Thomas Deming

Spears gets verbally abused by Chuck Dula at Frisko Freeze

“I thought I told you, get the double cheeseburger and the Root beer shake!”



It is so hard to make a good first impression these days. I’ll try to keep calm as Spears — my 5’4”, 27-year-old, health conscious, insanely hot guest — peruses the Frisko Freeze menu in search of something vegetarian, or at least a garden burger.



“Not here, for the last time, woman. This ain’t the place. It’s a burger stand. You are my guest, and I am trying to remain calm,” I’ll be forced to say.



At this point, I’ll be able to hear her humming “toxic” under her breath. I’ll just smile knowing that what she is about to put in her stomach will be the definition of this.

After what seems like ages, Spears will finally make up her mind, ordering the 15-piece prawn basket and blue goo ice cream with strawberry toppings. The 20 people in line behind us will breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the most beautiful woman they have ever seen has finally made, what seems to be, the hardest decision of her entire life.



At this point I’ll inform Spears that I don’t have any cash, and she’ll pick up the tab. I’ll tell her I’ll get her back, but this will be a lie. — Chuck Dula

Spears entices Russell to stay

Look, while she’s in our town, greatly increasing the spread of STDs by toilet seat, the least Spears could do is help Tacoma out a little. For this reason, perhaps she could have her driver drop her off in front of the Russell building just before quitting time. Perhaps Spears could exit said car, with her trademarked, wide-legged approach — giving all of those at Russell with street side offices something to stare at other than depressing economic projections. But this won’t be your typical, TMZ-style Spears crotch shot. No, we’ve all seen that before, and at this point it’s getting a little tired.



To spice things up and as a much appreciated act of kindness toward our fair city, Spears could shave the special message “Tacoma Loves You!” into her much traveled nether region — forever letting execs at Russell know just how far we’ll go to keep them here.

To avoid any potentially embarrassing mishaps, city of Tacoma public relations Jedi Rob McNair-Huff will send Spears a text message verifying the spelling of all words contained in the message prior to shaving. — Matt Driscoll

Spears finishes a bottle of Jameson at Doyle’s

As many of you know, it's a Doyle's tradition for whoever finishes the last of a bottle of Jameson to write his name upon the bottle and proudly display it with the other empty Jameson bottles along the walls of Tacoma's best Public House. With a stressed-out publicist heeding fair warning to Spears NOT to drink too much while in Tacoma, the rebellious singer might somehow catch wind of this Jameson whiskey tradition and sprint down to Doyle’s as fast as she can.



In this event, the good news is Spears will have no problem finishing an entire Jameson bottle, completing her drunken mission. The bad news will be that directly across the street at Tacoma’s Landmark Convention Center, Bob and Sherry’s highly anticipated wedding reception will be going full force. Guests will be fully enthralled in the Macarena, giving Aunt Barb an opportunity to steal money out of everyone’s purses. At this moment, Spears might enter the wedding reception, hike up her shirt, and start infiltrating the pasta bar while shoving bread rolls in her bra to take home. Aunt Barb might see Spears encroaching on her turf, and an epic display of girl-on-girl violence might well break out. — SD

Spears at Jazzbones' Rockaraoke

“I wanna be, An-ar-chy!”



Spears would be drunk and spitting Long Island Ice Tea on the front row of the Jazzbones constituents as she sings a Sex Pistols song. If a scene like this went down, I’d be officially in love.



She might be the eighth highest selling female artist in the history of music, but at such a moment she’d be just a skank. Spears would feel completely at home at Rockaraoke because she is used to singing over such all-time studio musicians as Max Martin and Eric Foster White, who helped put her first four albums in the number one slot. But this time she would be sloshed.



“Another shot, Britney? Yes?”



“No, you don’t look drunk. Lot’s of people puke on the bartender after ordering ‘five shots of your hardest smack.’”



I’d shoot her a wink and give her a little slap on the ass, telling her “You’re going to be all right, kid.” — CD

Spears leaves something special in the Murano elevator

Though tempted to profess her innocence with exculpatory eye contact, Spears will stare straight ahead after unleashing a scalding, sulfurous fart in the crowded Hotel Murano elevator as she makes her way to her suite.



“I ate two Hilltop Strangler hot dogs and drank a bunch of Rainiers last night at The Red Hot. I knew from my afternoon limo ride back from rehearsal that I was brewing some paint-peelers,” Spears will say. “I was just hoping it would escape without any audible fanfare. But I let a small one out next to that odd wooden horse in the Murano lobby, and I could tell it was going to sting some eyes in the elevator.”



As the acrid methane gradually reaches the noses and attention of her fellow elevator passengers, Spears will face a difficult decision. “It’s the same old dilemma,” Spears will explain. “Do you mount a defense by calling attention to it, letting out a surprised ‘Oops, I did it again’ or whispering, ‘Is the circus in town?’ or do you just sit there and eat the suspicion and shame?



“There was this tall guy in a top hat sketching me riding unicorns, and I toyed with the idea of giving him the old raised eyebrows, like ‘Wow, somebody’s got a real problem, huh … somebody needs to see an internist, stat.’ But the smell was so god-awful I just stared at the elevator doors and bolted when I got to my floor.” — Michael Swan