Last night, Madonna gave me a lift from banner Cross Post Office to Psalter Lane art college. She had a sexy red chevrolet, and beeped me as she pulled up.
She knew the depths of my feelings for her, and could see I was no threat, so she invited me to hop in.
We make a sharp left off Ecclesall Road South, and head up Psalter lane. At the peak of the hill, the road is taken over by 5 women with Madonna’s True Blue-era hair, tight blonde corkscrew’s bouncing as they pounded the road.
But these clones all had a vermilion cape flowing behind them, with the pink emblem of a lobster’s claw on the back, raised like a Black Power salute. I instantly knew this was Lady Gaga’s gang symbol; and she was ruling this town with a fake lobster fist.
Embarrassing! I turned to Madge with red cheeks. Gaga was a style gyppo: nicking Madonna’s style then flaunting it as her own.
As we overtook the Gagas, I wanted to show my loyalty to Madge, and pictured flipping them the bird- too vulgar, I thought. The moment was gone. Arse.
We parked in front of the campus, and ducked down away from a nosy security guard. Madonna leaned in so close, I could smell the fruity tones of her posh hairspray. She passed over the most self-indulgent scrapbook I’ve ever seen: an orgasm of Pop Queen Propaganda. My hand shook as I turned the pages.
Then it was morning and it was all a fucking dream!!!!!!!!! I was so angry that I beat the pillow with my obsessive-fan hands. Until Esther told me to stop it.
I got up and made breakfast in bed and got on with my so-called life.