Boom! Check this sexy shit out!
Finally Lady GaGa has let me in: she’s given me all the pieces to her puzzle, given up the secret of her past. I'm the first one to decipher the message: in her newest video Bad Romance GaGa gives a tell-all story of her life as a space alien prostitute femmebot from the Eastern Bloc.
We start the vignette with our star in her current state. The title Lady does indeed denote nobility: the empress of a league of the deadliest fuckdroids in the universe. We get a full shot of the team, each one sexier than the last and each perfectly wound and oiled. Thank Xenu that computers can't get the herp. Then, GaGa presses the last track button on her Parrot StARCK and shows us her origin.
Sometime in the ‘68, or whenever the Cold War happened, the cosmonauts found GaGa and her army of sex dolls floating through spaced in their conspicuously phallic pods. The commies knew they had stumbled upon an ancient – and perhaps a bit stanky – weapon. They immediately secured the pods in their East German bastion: the GaGa Bath Haus. The only evidence of the sexual monsters inside was the spectrometry: usually yielding a wavelength, GaGa’s signal clearly read “impregnate, abort, repeat”. Some years later, GaGa and her troop ooze out of their pods - apparently the strobe light from the neighbouring club woke them up.
As these magnificent mechanical creatures emerge, it becomes clear that before climbing into their pods they had just seen the Spike Jonze flop Where the Wild Things Are and were having a slumber party in their sexy jam-jams. Aware that they have an audience in the Bath Haus, they begin to move. You see, these space aliens, like bees, communicate through jerky hip-hop dance.
We find out quickly that GaGa doesn’t eat food. It turns out that she her ideal food, her ambrosia, is cock. Big, warty cock. (“I want your ugly, I want your disease”). In her larval stages, she expands her eyes to anime size, to take in as much information about her new socialist world as possible. We see her hand twitching in overload, and later she stimulates herself to suss out tactile inputs. At some point, she sheds her skin, specifically that of her nipples, and tapes some gauze to her boobs. The computer is learning and growing.
We get a few glimpses of GaGa’s torture face, hungry for penis. She’s pulled out of her tub by two minions and forced to drink the only other thing that will sustain her: Moldovan orphan tears. Luckily for her, the USSR is flooded with this shit and the Nemiroff distillery is just a stone’s throw away.
She is then subject to inspection by evil scientist Karl Hanslo, heir to the Nemiroff fortune and director of sexual weaponry for the Soviets. For the past decade, Hanslo has been extracting orgasmo-DNA from GaGa and experimenting on himself – having equipped himself with a giant un-chafe-able wang and the world’s best jaw for cunnilingus, gold plated in decadent Russian tradition.
The story switches between shots of the test performances, with a reluctant Lady GaGa falling everywhere, and a shower scene. In the shower we can see GaGa has fallen in love with the half-human Hanslo. Her love is so strong that GaGa picked up an earthling hobby to be more like him, what we humans call an “eating disorder”. Then, we see a bald pussy. I think everyone gets that. GaGa mounts Hanslo, but he shows his lack of interest, using his Wii remote to sell some new applications of this sexual technology on eBay. The GaGa technology goes for a million of whatever the stupid commies used as a bogus currency.
Then we see a true testament of GaGa’s divinely trashy powers: she goes on a field trip to Chernobyl. Her costume is covered in uranium and her hair totally frizzes into a double beehive. Everyone’s dead, but she doesn’t care - the radiation mutates her genome, turning her feet into crab claws and evolving her into a level 7 diva. Covered in uranium, she struts through an underground shower room, realizing she is now queen and Karl is hers for the taking.
Here we are, at the finale. Adorable little robot GaGa doesn’t realize that polar bears are our most loveable deadly predator and kills one on the way to the Nemiroff Ice Palace. She walks into the master bedroom and stomps towards Karl. She removes the bear-coat to demonstrate her newest tune-ups, and for once the Russian bastard puts down his glass of vodka-flavoured tears. To set the mood, GaGa lights a fire, but with the naiveté of a toddler, doesn’t realize she’s set the room on fire. Then she gets hers. She reaches climax in a storm of flames and finally has her man. As she turns to him to get his number, she realizes that he has been burned alive. What a bust.
This is the tragic story of GaGa's origins, move over Romeo and whos-her-face, bitch is on fiyah!
This video is so fabulous I want to bite my own dick off. GaGa, I’m so glad your surgery’s all done and you can show your face. You have redefined fierce.
E.S.
