Oh, Lady BlahBlah. When you used Diet Coke cans as curlers, I laughed and thought, “There is a kindred spirit.” When you wore a meat dress, I thought, “I may never eat steak again.” But I did. So we got through it. But this:
I don’t care that you’ve given yourself lace bangs, or that you have pearls glued to your nails. And I also don’t care that, for once, I can’t see the intricacies of your pelvis. Any credit you might’ve gotten for that is GONE, because you went a step too far this time.
My Little Pony heads? YOU JUST DECAPITATED MY CHILDHOOD, FUG MONSTER. I have notes.
ONE, the back of your hair should have a clarinet poking out of it, because it’s due to play in the Mos Eisley cantina in ten minutes. TWO, you are wearing a jacket with your own screaming face on it, in which you are also inhaling your own hair, which suggests to me the symbolism that you will choke on your own self-obsession. And THREE, that face? THAT IS HOW MY SOUL FEELS ABOUT YOUR NECKLACE. First muppet coats, now this? You are like Sid from Toy Story. How do you know the toys don’t see everything, Gaga? HOW DO YOU KNOW?