(1) LADY GAGA vs. (2) NICKI MINAJ
Apparently, yesterday, Lady Gaga turned twenty-five. I wonder if a quarter-life crisis can explain this.
Like, she cracked under pressure of all that’s come before, and wants to be reborn as something different. Or, she’s a huge David Blaine fan. Suddenly I’m rooting for them to hook up. LaDavid Blaiga would be my new favorite couple, and as an added bonus, he might make her disappear.
Because she’s so exhausting. I mean, who wears this to go shopping?
I guess when you’re Lady Gaga, and you show up to Chanel in Milan, you’re not there to try on clothes. You’re just there to point sullenly at things that will show up later in your hotel room so that you can don them when you’re just in a bathrobe, rather than having to remove your carefully locked-down chastity corsetry, bubbled catsuit, and veils in some random Italian dressing room. What if someone steals the vaginal buckle?!?
Then again, it’s pointless to question the motivation behind the person who comes up with stuff like this.
It never occurred to me to wonder what the love child of John Lennon and Marie Antoinette would look like, but then again, Lady Gaga and I don’t really have that much in common. Except, of course, for a fondness for dressing like the love child of Carol Channing and Liza Minnelli.
Personally, I do this all the time. I LOVE to sit around and BeDazzle all my slacks.
But here is where Gaga and I differ: I draw the line at back-brushing the front of my hair. I mean, come on. We live in a society.
In all truth, I think that is one major reason I personally think of Gaga as more fug than funny. Because most of the time, her antics don’t make me giggle. They just skeeve me out.
Hannibal Lecter Goes To The Orthodontist? Skeeve.
And of course, Skeeve Sanders.
So how does Nicki Minaj stack up to all this? Quite admirably, because she’s never met a ball of crazy she wasn’t willing to knead.
Or, as the case may be, knead and then pop into the oven to bake for an hour at 350. Seriously, now that Nicki has gotten more famous in the past year, I’m rather looking forward to these ladies going head to head on the red carpets with regularity. Because at the Grammys, after Gaga finished being lugged around in her ovum, Nicki just strolled out as casual as you please and made us almost forget all about human dairy products.
This looks like WAY more fun than being trapped in a hot, muggy egg, sweating from the warmth of your own breath.
One of my favorite things about Nicki is her inability to resist a wig of any kind.
This one reminds me of the angular, frizzy ‘dos of any number of frosty female executives in ’80s movies, like Bette Midler in Big Business, or the lady in the execrable Michael J. Fox comedy The Secret of My Success. I saw that in the theaters, but in my defense, a) I loved him in Back to the Future and thus trusted him not to betray me; and b) I was really stupid, and so because I hadn’t heard of the movie, I thought it was a documentary about how he got famous. Seriously. But that lady (Margaret Whitton) won me over for the scene where she wore a hat with all her hair gathered to one side. Hilarity.
This looks like a publicity still for an ’80s sitcom about an annoying neighbor, called Don’t Tell Shirley!
This one is for an MTV show called Bitch, You Did Not EVEN.
I would put this show on the Travel Channel, I think. It’d be about hopscotching the globe shopping at flea markets, but you can only buy what you can glue to your body. Alternatively, since that show would probably only be fun for one episode, I would hire Slash to come play old Guns ‘n’ Roses classics on my exoskeleton.
This must have been worn on a dare, because it doesn’t involve pants, or spandex tights, or a catsuit:
But it DOES come with its own lifeguard, so maybe this is some kind of advanced flotation device for when she’s booked to play a funeral at sea.
One thing I will say about Nicki is that, while you never see her wearing her skivvies to Yankee Stadium — and thus, I never need to write the Lysol people to ask if they will please develop disposable anti-bacterial panties — she certainly isn’t afraid of the illusion of nudity.
Please withhold all e-mails on the practicality of sewing pearls to your hindquarters.
Also, please add External Glitter Thong to the list of band names we’ve made up during Fug Madness 2011.
Y’all, this is a toughie — the kind of matchup that could have been the finals, if our randomizer hadn’t put them in the same bracket. Take a gander at the other great hits Nicki and Gaga have offered us this year, take a swig of something very strong, and then condemn (or elevate?) one of them to the Final Four.