Lady Poo – Bonus April 2010

Never truly believing Kylie to be a princess or Madonna to be my queen – I know I’m a bad fag. Shoot me! – I wasn’t thrilled when Lady Gaga first showed up on our dance-floors but willing to give her a go. At first, her songs did appeal to me. At first, I didn’t even know who she was. So I danced and I boogied, muttering words I didn’t understand. Words, I’m not even sure SHE understood. Then came the videos.  It was soon utterly impossible to chill out with my friends without one of them begging to go onto YouTube and making us watch her latest clip. That’s when I truly started to saturate. What’s so fucking amazing about her? Huh?

I won’t deny her, her flair for drama or her outrageous outfits. I’ll even go as far as saying that her tunes are catchy (in a Britney Spears, before she shaved off her hair, kinda way). I’ll also admit that I was hooked on the rumours about her being a hermaphrodite.  Only, she wasn’t. What a big disappointment that was. She was just a girl, like any other girl. Probably a fag hag in high school too. A girl with abnormally high high-heels – apparently platform shoes didn’t get it that wrong! A girl with glasses the size of my toilet seat. A girl whose entire body was covered up in silk or spandex – sometimes hiding her face, as though she thought the burka to be the ultimate fashion accessory! A girl, quite frankly, that was starting to get on my nerve.

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! SHUT UUUUUP!

That’s when all Hell broke loose. That’s when they started it to play her five times a night. In every single disco I went to, over and over again: Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la!

Now, some quick maths! Within the space of a single song (I’m not even talking remixes here) how many time does she burped out the following lyrics?  Don’t bother listening to the song again to check (I did it for you – God, I’m dedicated to the cause!), I’ll tell you: five times. Bare minimum! So five times five? Anyone? That gives us a grand total of twenty five times per average night out. And it looks something like this:

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la!

Try reading that without getting a headache! Now, imagine that every single queen that surrounds you turns to you at that exact moment and start busting out the lyrics in your face! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la! (One more for the road, in case you haven’t had enough yet). It’s enough to make anyone want to reach for the closest razor blade and slash open their wrist.

And so I decided to go on strike. I deleted her from my computer and refused to do the slightest dance step when she came on in clubs. Standing my arms crossed, clearly pissed off, my backs turned to the huge plasma screen that was playing her clip, everybody stared at me. I heard them muttering, asking each other what on Earth was wrong with me and how I could possibly refused to dance to that amazing song, I turned around, gave the finger to the telly and headed to the bar. I was in serious need of a drink. I have now reached a point when I’m starting to consider walking out all together the next time I hear: Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga-oh-la-la!

Salvation, funnily enough, can comes in all shapes and forms and I have found mine thanks to a Bulgarian drag queen who turned Lady Gaga obsessive nonsense into a parody that goes something like this: Oh, yes it’s true I’m all covered in poo… I just shit my pants.

Written by Jeronimo

This is nothing more than the witty rumblings of a Fairy (Capital F) who tells it like it is...Erm, thinks it is... or well, just dreams it. After escaping the evil grip of abismal Moscow (where the saga started - see the GULAg episodes), our Fairy found himself in the...
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