When I'm in Latin America, every time I get off the airplane there are thousands of people waiting for me. I'm traveling with seven security guards, and it's like I'm a Beatle or something. It's cool, of course -- "Wooo, I'm a superstar!" -- but it's kind of weird to get that in some places and then other places you don't. It's a mind fuck. Like at L.A.X., no one is there, because in America people are jaded -- they don't give a fuck. It's weird, too, the fans run at you; they freak out and grab at you. Sometimes I get scratches all over me. People want to touch my hair. One time in Korea, I got into my car, and some fans threw all these gifts into the car -- a wedding dress and this bag. I open the bag and it was a rabbit. I screamed. I thought it was a dead cat.
After flirting with a more serious side, Canadian export Avril Lavigne returns to her Sk8er Boi roots on this spring's chart-topping poppy-punky The Best Damn Thing.
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