Seen here wearing a "Caca Jumped Over The Moon" dress in London this afternoon, Lady Gaga wrote a 2-page masturbation piece for V Magazine where she anointed herself a glam librarian who can teach a master class in fashion and art. The only thing Lady Gaga's article taught me is how to roll my eyes and fart at the same time. Caca starts stroking her dick right away:
"Glam culture is ultimately rooted in obsession, and those of us who are truly devoted and loyal to lifestyle of glamour are masters of its history. Or, to put it more elegantly, we are librarians. I myself can look at almost any hemline, silhouette, bead work, or heel architecture and tell you very precisely who designed it first, what French painter they stole it from, how many designers reinvented it after them, and what cultural and musical movement parented the birth, death, and resurrection of that particular trend. So dear critics and bullies: get your library cards out, because I'm about to do a reading."
Jesus damn. It's like I'm stuck next to the know-it-all first year art student at a party and trying to find a way to excuse myself so that I can go pet the cat in the corner for four hours. But nope, she has more to say and the shit she's full of is bubbling over and starting to produce more thoughts. Like this one:
"Any writer, or anyone for that matter, who doesn’t understand the last two sentences of this column should NEVER be writing about or critiquing fashion or artists in publication. As someone who references and annotates her work vigilantly, I am putting all of you on notice. I've done my homework, have you? Where are your library cards? Did they expire?"
And this one:
"There is no chicken or egg. It's molecular. Cells give birth to cells. To put it more bluntly, the Hussein Chalayan vessel I wore at the Grammys wasn't inspired by a chicken. It was stolen from an egg. But the transformation, the context, and the approach taken to reinterpret the meaning of birth and rebirth in terms of fame on a fucking red carpet — this is what creates the modernity of the statement. The past undergoes mitosis, becoming the originality of the future."
BITCH, you fucking write songs about telephones and mirror ball dicks! And to think I started to get sweet on Caca for wearing Lucite penis heels. Typical me. Always getting blinded by plastic dicks.
And since you were wondering, I did not understand the last two sentences of her column, because why in dusty hell would Nan Kempner carry her fucking library card around? What is it with Caca and library cards? Who carries around a library card anymore? The way she goes on about the damn library makes me think that she thinks she's Parker Posey in Party Girl. Caca wishes. HEY! HEY! GOODBYE!