Attention, Little Monsters: Your Mother is about to birth something…silly.
Last night, during one of the dozen-or-so shows in Perth on the never-ending Hey, Isn’t This Just The Monster Ball Tour With Some New Songs Ball (due to run until 2036, approximately), Lady Gaga briefly spoke to her adoring cult members regarding the tone of her upcoming record.
“I feel like when I wrote Born This Way, I demonstrated a sense of maturity,” the Illuminati High Priestess explained of the album about highway unicorns, ear condoms and human motorcycles.
“I feel that on the next album, there’s a lack of maturity. A tremendous lack of maturity or sense of responsibility,” she giggled to the panicked yelps of the crowd. Just as the sentence rolled off her Satan-blessed tongue, several Little Monsters immediately began administering prison-style tattoos of the words “Immature This Way” onto their chests and smearing lamb’s blood over their foreheads, all hoping to be one of the lucky few selected for the slaughtering at the end of “Americano.”
But before revealing too much, the “I Like It Rough” chanteuse launched into a piano version of one of her new songs: “Princess Die,” a not-at-all offensive homage (?) to Princess Diana that Lady Gaga wrote about Lady Gaga, with lyrics like “I wish that I could go in my rich boyfriend’s limo right after he proposed with a 16-carat stone wrapped in rose gold with the paparazzi all swarming around”–proving yet again that Lady Gaga is truly the Queen of Subtlety and Taste.
So there you have it: Gaga’s next album is immature. But then again, Lady Gaga hates the truth, and her truth is her lies, and her art is her truth, and her truth is her lies is her art–so maybe she’s lying (because it is her truth.) Maybe the new album is really a concept album based around sexuality called, let’s say, Erotica Monster. Who knows, really?
Deep in the recesses of the arena, Legendtina peered out from the pouch of a kangaroo with a notepad in hand as Gaga continued to yodel out “Princess Die.” “Immature,” she murmured to herself, tapping her Bionic promotional pen against her blood red lips while frantically re-reading her upcoming single’s title on the sheet: “Love Your Body.”
“Love your body,” she whispered to herself. And then, a strike of genius: “Don’t,” she quickly scribbled in front. She looked down at the new title and smirked. “Don’t Love Your Body.” How deliciously immature and irresponsible. A shrill, blood-curdling cackle rang out through the arena.
Victory shall be mine, Legendtina thought to herself. Soon.
