Does Lady Gaga Like A Virgin

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Lady Gaga has out-sexied the entire world and for this crime she's landed in a semi-nudist jail. Luckily she has a well-known brand of mobile, and her friend Beyoncé, on hand to help My Name is LADEEE GAGA! And I am THE BIGGEST POP STAR IN THE WORLD, and all I want is to bring you my BIG, Hard, PUMPING pop song. But I have been running up against problems.

I know. This is both big AND hard to believe. And also pumping. But here is the tale. See, I – an artist, and purveyor of funk and sex – became too sexy for almost everything I owned. Too sexy for my flat, my cat; the police removed me from all the places and things I was finally considered too sexy for, placing me in jail. Which went fine, until the very second I developed the last stage of toosexyitis and, too sexy for my shirt, was left to rot in a small cell on the island of underdressed models. And then everything seemed to go a lot better. At least once they'd found out this was where I was hiding my treasures. Yes! Behold the edginess! I've got a pair of glasses made of cigarettes! The traditional bargaining chip of the cellblock floor! So I'm hot because I'm a nicotine queen and because I'm displaying all the hallmarks of the most weirdly corporate-friendly video ever. And yes, that's a woman's hand rubbing against my crotch. But that's not the point right now: what's the hottest thing between my legs? Mmmm! Look at the phone, right?

Very Big Product placement. Big, pulsing product placement. And just before the third minute finally the song kicks in and at 2m 57s here I am again, clothes found, phone stashed let's-not-mention-where, Diet Coke cans proudly curling me hair; I'm cock of the hoop, queen of the hill, top of the jail and calling my lover …

... and whatever this conversation I have on the phone leaves Prisoner Gaga feeling cocksure, dancing proud and engorged, upstanding and erect with my fellow prisoners, hot and proud and doing things in bars that frankly we, as women prisoners, should not be allowed to do. Anyway. So. Minute by minute, eh?

Minute four. This happens

Which is clearly me, la Gaga touching myself, wrapped in police tape in a medium to maximum security prison ... and that's intercut with pics of her planning her escape with the help of some really high-profile product placements. And I'm sorry but I find product placement of this kind stupid: the music itself is a product, the video is product placement. Product placement IN video is the next biggest thing, and I refuse to collude. ANYWAY.

The warden lets Gaga out while looking at a dating site that I'm not going to be promoting, and in the car park Gaga meets …

Minute five

OMG! It's Beyoncé! Almost no one here was expecting that, right?! I will let someone else tell you about the rest, for I don't remember it clearly. Years of hairdye, etc.

Beyoncé and Gaga don't actually kiss in this minute, but they do share a twinkie. And as a spongy cake filled with cream, the sharing of such is almost certainly considered a sexual act in most communities, isn't it? They seem angry with each other, though mainly in the kind of way that can be resolved by setting off in a stupidly big car to to some unreasonably disproportional act or revenge.

Luckily, they're brought the right car.

It is a stupid muscle-truck.

They go VROOM, while pulling "acting" faces at each other.

Getting to wherever they're going, Gaga and Beyoncé put poison in the drink of a man we've never seen before and may never see again.

(Apart for the fact that he's a major movie/TV star, but that's not the point right now, he's mainly just soon dead, that's the main thing.) And we start to understand how this all came about.

So: Lady Gaga was attending a school of culinary arts, while her friend, cheated on by a rotter needing a well of poison to drop his infidelity into, asked her for help.

But it wasn't just one infidelity, one cheating motherfucker (not my words, it was the family friendly Beyoncé, guvnor), but a bunch of them, and once they'd killed them all [see visual metaphor fig. i]

fig. i Then the director – and God knows no one cares who it is by now because they're too busy scraping bits of their jaws off the floor and bits of their brains off the ceiling and bits of their time back from the eternal clock-of-life to care – makes some vague references to Tarantino and Thelma and Louise and everyone nods and smiles and then either goes back and looks at the fun plot-based bit from four to eight minutes or the dumb underweary bit from one to four minutes anyway, depending on their sex.

Because really, you might as well just release two videos, right?

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