The Age of (Not That) Innocence

In the spring of 2000, the American Dream demanded to go to Mars. The instructions were simple: The new blond ruler of the Red Planet wanted to dance in a cherry latex catsuit; she wanted to meet a hot astronaut; there would be no rocket ship. The rest was up to whatever a $150,000 budget and fate could afford. Oops. You can already fill in the blank, a Mad Lib automatically answered. Britney was back.

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