Grammys Fug Universe: Lady Gaga


I just told Heather that I don’t know if I possess the right words — or enough of them — to describe the cornucopia of looks paraded by one Miss Lady Gaga last night. (She’s Miss Gaga, because I might get nasty.) I swear, I might just devolve into strings of adjectives. For example:

This is…futuristic prom rave murder sparkle cable installation.

And this is all…Minnie Mouse Barbie-hair Bowie-face scary sequin pointer finger Brazilian wax ass-flap party.

Making this…freaky zombie claw bomb squad dental exam aftermath. (From which I’m worried Elton may never recover.)

And this one is obviously, “Jesus Christ, why do I always get seated behind these people?! If Gaga stabs me in the face with that thing, it is ON. I SWEAR TO GOD, GAGA. YOU’RE GOING DOWN.”

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