Bar Belle: Gaga don’t preach
I’ve been soiling my pants on a daily basis ever since I heard Lady Gaga was coming to the KFC Yum! Center. LEO immediately requested an interview, but sadly, our advances were denied. Dejected and hurt, I hopped on a plane to stalk her at the Grammys and demand an interview. I was able to score a few minutes of her time … while she was, err, inside the egg.
Bar Belle: Thanks so much for meeting with me.
Lady Gaga: We only got four minutes.
BB: Um, so I can’t really see you. What’s with this egg?
LG: I see you through the smoky air. Can’t you feel the weight of my stare?
BB: Not really, but it’s OK — although I would have preferred interviewing you in a bar, like Anderson Cooper did.
LG: Don’t cry for me, Bar Belle. The truth is I never left you — all through my wild days, my mad existence. I kept my promise. Don’t keep your distance.
BB: You’re right … I should be grateful for the brief moment of shell time I have. I love your new song and can’t wait for the album to come out. What’s with all this criticism about ripping off Madonna?
LG: Music makes the people come together. It’s me against the music. My friends keep telling me to give it up. Saying I’m too young, I ought to live it up. What I need right now is some good advice.
BB: Well, maybe do a duet with her to let people know you’re cool.
LG: Second best is never enough.
BB: What do you do to unwind?
LG: I know a place where you can get away. It’s called a dance floor.
BB: I love to dance … after a couple of drinks in me, of course. Any favorite vacation spot?
LG: I want to be where the sun warms the sky. When it’s time for siesta, you can watch them go by. Beautiful faces, no cares in the world. Where a girl loves a boy, and a boy loves a girl.
BB: So, a beach? Perhaps a beautiful island? Speaking of boys and girls — thank you so much for everything you do for the LGBT community.
LG: Poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permission of another.
BB: Right. I consider myself one of your little monsters.
LG: I don’t wanna be your mother. I don’t wanna be your sister, either. I just wanna be your lover. I wanna have your baby. Kiss me. That’s right, kiss me.
BB: Wow, I’m flattered. Believe me, I want nothing more — except maybe the baby thing. But how can I kiss you when you’re inside this egg? Gives new meaning to egg on your face, doesn’t it?
LG: The road to hell is paved with good intentions, yeah. But if I die tonight, at least I can say I did what I wanted to do. Tell me, how ’bout you?
BB: Um, yes, I live with no regrets.
LG: Life is a mystery. Everyone must stand alone.
BB: So true. Our four minutes are almost up. Is there anything you want to tell your fans in Louisville?
LG: It makes no difference if you’re black or white, if you’re a boy or a girl. If the music’s pumping, it will give you new life. You’re a superstar, yes, that’s what you are.
Drunk Texts of the Week
• I have been on a rampage of textic proportions
• Playing solitaire down there
• Im a sextasaurus and I wanna hug you with my tiny arms
• Paula dean is a freak. Why do you think she lubes up her food?
• Wanna cheese wax ur fupa?