It was bound to happen; we mere earthlings could only gaze in wonder at the scantily clad front bottomed tomfoolery that has been the mainstay of Lady Gaga’s career to date and hope that it would last forever, but alas no. George W Bush (junior), warmonger, alcoholic and tiddlywinks champion of Kansas has preached to the world that God, via his renowned medium ET has requested that they send their ambassador back from whence she came as not only is her tea ready but her bedroom is a bloody mess.
It was too good to last, such hits as ‘Poke me in the face’, ‘Just Morris Dance’ and of course the unforgettable ‘Surgery to get this Way’ from her unmissable ‘Monster Swinging Balls Tour’ which many critics have claimed is a tribute to the dangly scrotum sack that now hangs in ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum of the Strange’ under the plaque titled ‘Possible Human Genatalia’ have rocked the world of Pop since she arrived to replace the other plastic freak of nature, Michael Jackson who died of acute media intrusion on 25th June 2009.
Lady Gaga’s career blossomed from 2008 onwards leading many critics to ask the questions how? Why? And, surely we’ve had enough of this glam rock/pop shit, I mean look what Gary Glitter turned out like and who wants that again, not me? But unfortunately these sage questions and dire warnings have gone unanswered and the garishly clad pop minstrel has dominated the world of Pop ever since, taking over spectacularly from the then soon to be dead King of ‘dodging child molestation charges with large sums of innocent money’ and oh yeah Pop too, that was Michael ‘may he rest in his many plastic pieces’ Jackson.
And now it would seem that like so many flash in the pan, computer enhanced, singing freaks of nature, we are to lose another scary personality to the cold oblivion of the planets. Even now Lady Gaga is perched precariously in the basket of a child’s bike, a blanket over her head to protect said child from her visage that if seen without its make up would undoubtedly lead to nightmares and years and years of adult counselling, waiting to begin her long, and many hope arduous journey back to Hermaphroditeonia and the untidy bedroom that beckons.
All we can hope is that the future holds just as many 10 a penny singing wanna-be’s that couldn’t carry a tune in a leaky shoe to replace the irreplaceable Monsieur Gaga and her swinging monster balls, Bon voyage, God speed and when you see Elvis say ‘Hi’ from us all.