Somewhere deep in West Hollywood, a legend is enjoying a peaceful beauty slumber in preparation for her soon-to-be iconic return to The Voice, following the release of her internationally renowned La Tempestad theme song, “Hoy Tengo Ganas De Ti.”
“Let me get mine, you get yours,” a voice buried within a pile of pink curtains purrs, as the songstress rolls over, moans and unleashes a Grammy-worthy snore that travels up several octaves. Suddenly, a bright light flashes from a dark corner of a room as her LG Lotus loudly vibrates against the table.
“SAY!” she screams, rising up like a lotus and kicking over a promotional Burlesque lamp off her nightstand.
@xtina pic.twitter.com/dt3326dDDH
— Perez Hilton (@PerezHilton) August 22, 2013
“What the…” she mumbles groggily, looking down at the phone. A voice within stirs. This rings…false. Not since the merciless shade attack by the New York Times had she felt so caught off-guard.
Quickly, she dashes downstairs into the depths of the Fan Dungeon. “WHO IS THIS?!” she roars at the masses of moaning bodies, the floor sticky with wads of chewed gum. She thrusts the phone into one’s face, snatches her night crown off of her head and throws it to the floor. “ANSWER ME!”
“P-Perez Hilton!” he stutters back.
“The one with the sex tape?” she seethes, her eyes narrowing.
“No, Perez! A gossip blogger.”
“WHO?! A blogger?!” she spits back. HA!” she cackles, tossing back her luscious blonde locks.
“It’s — it’s some grudge he has against Lady Gaga. He says Gaga tried to ‘sabotage’ you once, so he’s trying to get back at her by supporting Bionic on the same day as ARTPOP. But he’s not actually being genuine. He’s really just using you as a pawn in his sick little game to try and —”
“SILENCE!” she demands, slapping the fan across the mouth with a fan. “I’m only just hearing about this newcomer, ‘Gaga.’ I still don’t know if that is a man or a woman. I don’t care. I’ll send a sample of Red Sin to wish him well on the release of FARTPOP.”
Legendtina begins to trudge back up the spiral staircase. Suddenly, she stops and spins back around on her Louboutins. “Thank you, fans. Remember — buy Lotus!” she offers with a wink.
Back upstairs, Legendtina storms into the sprawling living room, where the air is moist and thick with the scent of Christina Aguilera by Night. Without warning, the memories come flooding back. Every post. THE MERCILESS SHADE. Him.
“FIGHTERS! BOBBLEHEADS! UNBREAKABLE FLOWERS…ASSEMBLE!” she cries out, feeling this moment for a moment.
Baby Max, who had been napping comfortably in the baby chair made of unsold copies of Bionic, looks up sleepily at his mother for a moment. “What now?” he ponders. The idea rolls around in his mind for a moment until his eyes return to his iPod Touch, where he refreshes BritneySpears.com for the 50th time that night. “25 days,” he gurgles to himself until falling back asleep.
Meanwhile, Legendtina is now smacking the monitor of her 1996 IBM in the corner which, until this very moment, had been collecting cobwebs. Not since the filming of her advanced Grindr opus, “Your Body” — apart from a few late night Google sessions of “Liam 1D Naked” — did she ever use the old thing. The machine groans for a while until a dim light finally appears onscreen.
Suddenly, a forgotten face pops up.
“#PhuckYoPerez! Would you like your #Unapologetic horoscope today, bitch?” Orihanna merrily offers.
“NOT NOW, ILLUMINATI RATCHET!” Legendtina screams as she closes the screen. God, she really needed to change her homepage. Back to basics — err, business.
“PerezHilton.com/admin,” she hurriedly types into the address bar. “Username: PHilton.”
“Password: FukUAzealia.”
Denied.
“Password: WilliamSux4evr.”
Denied.
Think, Legendtina. She ponders. The voice within stirs.
“Password: ILuvGaga”
Access Granted.
“Justice for Bionic, indeed,” she coos sensually. “Welcome to the BBC, Perez — the Buy Bionic Coalition.”
The cackle rings out through the entirety of Los Angeles. Let there be love, and…
LET THE #JUSTICEFORBIONIC MOVEMENT BEGIN.
