Lana Del Rey is so goddamn mad at The Guardian that she could scream, but since she’s worked hard to build a persona whose emotions are always set at “……” she’s not going to do that. Instead, she’s going to take a long nap and have a black and white, slow motion dream where she’ll battle The Guardian in a gun fight while her boyfriend smoke a cigarette against her Jaguar convertible. The Little Leota on ZzzQuil is pissed at The Guardian for making her sound like she should be on suicide watch.
Last week, The Guardian published an interview with Lana where she said, “I wish we were dead.” To which most of us said, “You mean you aren’t already?” since she always looks like she successfully overdosed on sleeping pills about an hour ago. Lana tweeted (and then deleted) about The Guardian’s shady ways yesterday. Lana accused The Guardian’s Tim Jonze of trying to get her to say scandalous shit that he could use to get as many eyeballs on his interview as possible. Sure, Lana thinks she was interviewed by someone named Alexis instead of someone named Tim, but you’d get names mixed up too if you were always in a walking coma. Lana twatted this out:
Tim Jonze slapped back at Lana and said that it wasn’t that serious. He was just trying to pull some interesting quotes out of her mouth, which I guess is harder than trying to pull John Travolta’s face off of a massage therapist’s crotch.
Ultimately, the problem with Lana’s complaint is that she doesn’t seem to know what she’s actually complaining about. She’s not alleging that I made up her quotes, nor is she claiming that they’ve been “twisted” or that we’ve printed them out of context. Instead she seems annoyed by the fact I wanted her to say interesting things and asked questions that caused her to do so. Well sorry, Lana, but that’s just me doing my job.
The drama of it all. All of this because of something Blahna Del Meh said? Did anyone ever really think that Lana Del Rey wanted to off herself? Did anyone ever really think bitch was serious? To me, Lana Del Rey is that goth high school sophomore who paints her nails black with a Sharpie, always wears dead red roses in her hair and once and a while gets sent to the counselor’s office for reciting a poem in English class about how she wants to die. We should do what the guidance counselor does: hand Lana a pamphlet about suicide prevention and then tell her to lay off The Cure and the Edgar Allen Poe for a while.
If you care, here’s Lana giggling about wanting to be dead while talking to Tim about Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse.
But if you really want something riveting. Feed your eyes these pictures of Lana’s obvious face and hair idol Chicken Cutlets.