Met Ball Fug Carpet: Madonna

Picture Carrie Bradshaw. Now picture her having fallen on hard times,
reduced to starting a burlesque show in her apartment to make ends meet
while Big weeps over his crippled stock portfolio. Then add absinthe
and stir. Voila! You have Madonna:

I would love to have seen Guy Ritchie’s face today when he picked up his
morning paper and saw the spread on the Met Ball, likely led off with
a large color photo of his ex-wife wearing that. He’d either be horrified, deeply gratified that he may have been what cleaved Madge to her last remaining strands of sanity, or laughing too hard to have any opinion other than wondering where you can possibly go in choosing a burlesque pseudonym once your ACTUAL name is already Madonna. First Sunday School teacher plus name of your local supermarket? Grandmother’s name plus anagram of your second husband’s surname?

Oh, come on, Madonna, don’t walk away now. We were just staring to have some fun. I hadn’t even gotten to the part where I’m almost HOPING the taffeta Louis Vuitton tutu is actually bloomers, for fear that you will flash the, er, crack in your armor at every last party guest. Oh well. Another time.