Phoenixtina Risinguilera: The True Story Behind Legendtina’s ‘Lotus’ Album Cover

Deep in the Hollywood Hills, a buxom blonde wearing a studded diaper and a crown sits scowling at her 1996 IBM, reading a site called MuuMuse. “Who the fuck is this irrelevant flop?” she murmurs to herself.

Suddenly, a video chat request from Rihanna takes over the screen. “Phuck yo diamonds, bitch!” the Barbadian Illuminati High Priestess chirps merrily.

“NOT NOW, FAN,” Legendtina screams back at the monitor, closing out the conversation.

Not today–the day of the Lotus cover shoot.

Realizing that she still has prepping to do, the iconic “Car Wash” songstress gets up and saunters over to her vanity, spraying some Stripped promotional straightener onto her lustrous locks and applying a layer of Blu-Nude lipstick. After pursing her lips in the mirror for several hours, she sashays over to a window, tugs on a rope hidden behind the curtain, as a massive green screen descends just behind her.

“M-A-A-X!” she scream-sings for 17 seconds. The toddler shuffles in, dejected.

“It’s time,” she announces.

Knowing what this means already, he climbs up onto a Bionic promotional booster seat as she hands him a Nikon. Let’s just get this over with, he thinks to himself while shoveling another scoop of Bits N Pieces cereal into his mouth. X Factor should be on soon enough.

Then, something catches his eye on the screen of her computer. “Mommy, what’s that? Is that your inspiration?”

“What are you talking about?!” Legendtina screams, dashing over and shutting off the monitor immediately.

Then, she turns back around: “Tonight’s your lucky night, fans” she announces to no one in particular. Slowly, she strolls back over to the green screen while scream-singing “Your Body” and, without warning, tosses off her crown, unties her corset, slips her studded diaper to the ground, and stands entirely in the buff.

Damelo duro,” she purrs.

“FAN!” Legendtina suddenly roars. Hearing this, two stans come running into the room immediately, carting in a massive pink lotus plucked from the Back To Basics swamp in the back of the legend’s fortress. “Will this do, your majesty?” they tremble.

“Not yet,” she barks.

Just then, she whips out a bottle of Red Sin and douses the flower in a thick coat of the putrid substance, causing one of the two fans to pass out immediately.

And then, the transgression: “Oh my GOD, it smells like the stage after a Justin Bieber concert!” screams the other.

Without skipping a beat, the “Ven Conmigo (Solamente Tu)” songstress produces a half-eaten Cheesy Gordita Crunch from her weave and slaps the stan straight across the mouth, spewing blue special sauce in every direction.

“Oh-OOH-yeah,” Legendtina yodels as the stan falls to his knees.

“Now then, where were we? Oh, yes. Right. This album art will be for the true music lovers,” Legendtina explains as she steps into the lotus, completely desnudated. “For the true lovers of music, like Hillary Clinton.

Baby Max looks up from his iPod. “Ugh. It needs to be brighter, mommy,” he whines, looking back down and staring at the Femme Fatale cover smoldering back on his screen. As if you could be as flawless as her, he thinks to himself.

“Fan!” Legendtina screams again as the battered fan come running back into the room, his arms overflowing with unsold copies of Bionic. Quickly, he tosses the albums into the mouth of the stinky lotus.

“Say!” she yelps as the glare from the albums obscures her vision–and her woohoo. “SA-A-AY!”

And then, a second transgression: “Are you sad about ‘Your Body’ plummeting from #36 to #66 on the charts this week, My Queen?” the fan innocently inquires.

The voice within stirs. Legendtina reaches behind her, grabs a bat resting against the wall, and strikes him straight across the face–confetti from the cancelled Bionic Tour now spraying all over the room.

“I am a legend reborn, stronger than ever,” she declares, tossing the bat away into a corner and outstretching her arms like CHRISTina Almightyguilera. “Now, SNAP IT!”

Baby Max looks into the camera again. “Who owns the throne?” Legendtina demands. “You do, Mommy,” he resigns. Snap.

She steps out from the stinky flower and walks over behind Baby Max’s seat, staring at her biconic photo in the preview screen. “SAY!” she screams, throwing her head back and cackling.

“I think you already shot my album cover.”

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