Elton John’s husband David Furnish went on a bitter old queen rant the night Madge won the Golden Globe for Best Song over the song from his movie Gnomeo & Juliet. Shots were fired and Madge made a mental note to claim the soul of David’s first born Zachary by revenge fucking him in 18 years. We should all assume that Madge also threatened to strangle David with her velocicrotch in his sleep, because he’s put down his weapon, slid it over to her side and is now saying on Facebook (via UsWeekly) that his words were blown out of proportion.
“Wow! What a tempest in a teapot. My comments regarding The Golden Globes have been blown way out of proportion. My passion for our film Gnomeo & Juliet and belief in Elton’s song really got my emotional juices going. But I must say for the record that I do believe Madonna is a great artist, and that Elton and I wish her all the best for next week’s premiere of the film W.E.”
Hmmm. I wonder which part was blown out of proportion? The part where he wrote “Madonna for Best Song? Fuck off!” or the part where he wrote that her “acceptance speech was embarrassing in its narcissism.” Or maybe the part where he used her old CD booklets to line the inside of Elton’s Depends? I hate it when this shit happens. David let his bitter bitch flag fly brightly and now he’s backpedaling up Madge’s ass, because he’s afraid she’s going to make his hairline jump back a few inches when she puts him in a neck-hold with her engorged peen arms. David is an embarrassment in his wussyissism (and I’m an embarrassment for using the word wussyissism).
And when you write the line “my passion for our film Gnomeo & Juliet,” everything you write afterward should be struck from the record, because it’s obvious you’re okay with not making sense and it’s not right for you to drag us down too.
Speaking of W.E., here’s a piece of The Daily Telegraph’s smile-inducing, heartwarming and day-making review:
Madonna’s skill with the camera seems to extend to her being able to turn it on, but not a great deal further: to liven up an argument between Wallis and Edward, she has her romantic leads inexplicably run around a tree trunk. Later, we see Wallis dancing the Charleston with an African tribeswoman to the strains of ‘Pretty Vacant’ by The Sex Pistols in front of a Charlie Chaplin film, which must be a strong contender for the most garbled, half-baked image in cinema history.
W.E. is — still — a stultifyingly vapid film, festooned with moments of pure aesthetic idiocy. With characteristic humbleness, Madonna performs a song called ‘Masterpiece’ over the end credits, although one can’t help but feel that her 2003 number one single ‘Sorry’ might have been more appropriate.
Now that’s how it’s done, David! W.E.’s chances at getting nominated for an Oscar are as bleak as my asshole getting nominated for an Oscar, but the academy should still flash this review when they acknowledge Madge’s movie career in the In Memoriam segment.