Can someone please tell me when Madonna became Jesus?

I’m serious. My personal dislike for M, Madge, Mama, the Material Girl, Esther—for chrissakes what is she calling herself this week!?—is no secret to anyone who has read this column and/or witnessed any one of my live shows. I rag on her like there’s no tomorrow. And, after listening to the majority of her latest CD, I’m fairly convinced that there ain’t gonna be any more tomorrows! Yes, that’s right, the end is near! She only had four minutes to save the world—with the help of America’s favorite wigger, Justin Timberlake, no less—and the bitch failed. Boom! It’s just like in Evita when she sang the line, “I won’t disappoint you.” Too late. And is it just me, but after looking at the cover of Hard Candy, wouldn’t a more appropriate title maybe be Hard Tranny? I’m just sayin’... Now where was I? Oh yes, ripping Madonna a new one (which, if you do the math, would make four after Carlos Leon no doubt ripped her a third one with his Cuban cigar in order to make the ultimate fashion accessory, Lourdes.) Everytime I say anything against this pop star (no, she is not a politician, scientist or saint!), I get a face full of gay spittle as an outraged homosexual violently lisps, “What gives you the right!?” What gives me the right? You mean, other than being a citizen of these United States of America, where—correct me if I’m wrong—I am still free to speak my mind? What gives me the right? Imagine if you will that the gay community is a mythical kingdom full of delightfully strange creatures such as unicorns, faeries and trolls. Everywhere you look there are rainbows and crystal. Lots of crystal! There’s a big sparkly pink castle where the king lives and her name is Madonna. The king speaks in a haughty accent, throws the peasants crumbs from the safety of her tower and generally thinks her shit don’t stink. Well, that’s where I come in. See, I am the kingdom’s court jester and it is my lot in life to dance around singing dumb songs and acting like a fool in order to make all the rainbow-chasin’, crystal-snortin’ faeries and trolls laugh. So, I guess the answer to the queeries’ query of what gives me the right to make fun of King Madonna would be a simple “It’s my f--king job, stupid!”

What also gives me the right is that, unlike most of the kingdom’s annoying faeries and trolls, I’ve actually met her. That’s right, and like the look she worked in the “Deeper and Deeper” video, it wasn’t pretty! Everyone has a bad night, but this was her birthday for cryin’ out loud! Cheer up, honey—you’re a world-famous millionaire! I’m convinced that Madonna is the new Judy Garland. “Project Runway is brought to you by the new and improved, longer-living Judy Lite, now with twice the ego and half the talent!” To me, the ultimate sin is taking one’s self too seriously and Madonna is the poster child for the deadly disease of self importance. Her feeble attempts to appear self-deprecating or happy-go-lucky are as contrived and clumsy as the lyrics to her song “I Love New York” (in which she rhymes the title city with the word “dork” just to prove that she’s whimsical and doesn’t care too much.) Oh, but she does care—way too much. After all these years she still cares what people think. That’s why she’s a perfectionist who does Pilates, studies Kabbalah, speaks with a phony British accent, attempts to play guitar and insists upon singing live on stage despite a voice that’s thinner than delicatessen ham. Enough already! Just be a dumb pop star!

What started this rant, you ask? Well, I recently did a parody of Mariah Carey’s hit song called “Retouch My Body,” all about how certain stars use PhotoShop and various other techniques to look their best, despite advancing years and extra pounds. There is one line in the song where I sing, “Just look at Madonna, in real life she looks like an ancient iguana!” You’d have thought I pooped on the Quran and threw it, like a cream pie, into the face of the pope judging by the threatening responses I got from outraged Madonna fans. I mean, come on, it’s a joke. Cut me some slack, not a whole lot rhymes with Madonna. What would you have preferred—“Just look at Madonna, one look and you visit Nirvana”? I don’t think so. I’m sorry, but even King Madonna would have no choice but to fire any court jester who sang that ass-kissing, watered-down line!

illustration by www.glenhanson.com