Skronker

So my friend emailed me this incredibly amusing pic of Madonna along with the accompanying post on The Superficial that says “Here’s Madonna in the latest Louis Vuitton ad, and what the decaying hell are these people smoking? I seriously doubt anyone is looking at this photo and thinking to themselves “Oh, wow, a vag-cophagus. I suddenly need a new handag.” Unless Louis Vuitton is aggressively courting the elusive “Gay Paleontologist” market. In which case, jackpot!”

Ha! Vag-cophagus! That guy is funny.

Has anyone noticed lately that Madge has a very strange obsession with showing people her crotch? I give you exhibit b.

And exhibit c.

Jesus Jones woman. I’m all for amateur strip club roofie night at the old folk’s home but I’m not sure I’d use the evidence as promo shots.

With the oddly graying skin tone and hardening but shrinking body, she is starting to look seriously freaky.

I’ll be honest, Madonna scares me. I don’t know why but she just seems sort of evil and soulless. I sometimes think she goes home to her mansion, wherever that may be right now, strips out of her human skin and dives into a bloody pool of human bodies where she feeds all night. Her skin is slowly turning to stone just like Meryl Streep in Death Becomes Her and eventually she’s just going to be a spread legged marble statue (marble is a stone right? Watch me be wrong about that) sitting on sale in a antique shop.

Guy Ritchie will walk in and think “That looks familiar but I can’t quite place it…”

It’s weird that I hate Madonna so much since I LOVED her so much when I was younger, and I still like the old Madonna – Like A Virgin, Borderline – but there’s just something that resonates off her that repels me.

A friend of mine feels the same way about Grace Jones and says “It’s like she’s on some frequency that makes me crazy.”

I feel the same way about Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. The latter makes me feel bad because according to this guy Adam is the nicest guy in Hollywood.

I also have a SERIOUS problem with Diablo Cody, the screenwriter behind Juno, which I never saw and won’t see. First of all because I read Cody’s memoir Candy Girl and it was such a self congratulating pile of gobbige I can’t ever bring myself to experience anything by her again. Second because I heard Juno was that year’s Little Miss Sunshine and I hated that smug, whimsical, crappy two hours I will never get back. Third because everyone made SUCH A BIG DEAL about the fact that Diablo Cody (whose real and far less dumb name is Brooke something) used to be a stripper (for ONE year!). That film was marketed largely on that sole fact, as though it’s somehow remarkable that she once took her clothes off for a living and can actually DO SOMETHING ELSE. (And I am NOT bitter in any way shape or form because I also used to be a stripper, for far longer, and can’t believe the sort of mileage she’s getting out of it. OK?)

“She was a stripper! And she writes!” People were so impressed by this. They might as well have been saying “She’s a HORSE! And she can write!”

Anyway, I don’t think she actually can write. But if she were a horse I might think what she has written is more impressive, you know because she was a horse and all. So far I haven’t heard of any horses who can write but there are horses that can do this. Look! He’s dancing! How cool is that? Almost as good as the dancing horse is how excited the very proper British announcers are getting. At 4:06 you can hear one of them grunt with pleasure.

Also, it is totally a coincidence that this routine starts out to an instrumental version of Grace Jones’ Slave to the Rhythm. I swear.