The Gospel According to John

Now I've Just Had It

You guys seriously. I’m not even making a joke about this, okay? I need a serious, informative, legitimate answer.

 

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MADONNA.

unsere Dame der intergalaktischen Großartigkeit!!!!!

Die ewige Großartigkeit von ist ihr der kosmischen Wohltätigkeit weltweit erkannt worden und hat seine Weise in das Herz von Heidi Klum gebildet! 

Sagte Klum: "In der Welt von Art und Weise, sind Sie entweder innen, oder Sie sind heraus. Victoria ist innen. Andere können das runway." 

URGENT BULLETIN

It has come to my attention that some persons in my close circle have not yet been made aware of the jaw-dropping, outer-limits inanity that is Lindsay Lohan's Fornarina commercial. 

It direly important that if the phrase "Lindsay Lohan's Fornarina commercial" does not stir recognition in your brain, and rather incites you to say, "What in the ever-loving hell is a Fornarina?", that you watch this immediately. It's old news--I figured you all knew about it by now so I didn't bother--but the ever-savvy Miss Kate was ignorant of its...its...whatever-I-don't-even-know that I felt the need to make absolutely certain that it has reached everyone possible.

Again, I cannot underestimate the expediency with which you must watch this video if you haven't already. It trumps the Samantha Ronson/Lindsay Lohan BLB--that's Big Lesbian Breakup--it trumps Lindsay's recent appearance in that faux eHarmony ad, it trumps the financial crisis, it trumps human rights in Darfur, it trumps everything.

So, without further ado (until, of course, the video's done, and we point and laugh), and also partly in honor of the fact that Lindsay is appearing on Ellen today:

TO YOUR KNEES, YE FAITHFUL!

Hail! Hail! And behold her transcendent radiance!

Lift up your hearts, and arise in worshipful mirth!

Yield your will to her redemptive luminosity!

For today, dear readers, 35 years ago, unto us the intergalactic beneficence of our leader, She of Celestial Resplendence, Victoria Adams a Beckham, was bestowed.

In her 35 years, Posh, in her limitless omnipotence, has penetrated our souls and hearts with celestial benevolence and a surpassing ardor that can only be sensed in the presence of her nirvanic munificence.

Bow to her, and extol her cosmic splendor! Yield to her omniscient supremacy! Let us shout from the mountaintops her beatific eminence! For she is worthy of our exaltation!

To exercise devotion to Our Lady of Infinite Grandeur and honor her on this most holy of days, let us not commence with the baking of cakes, for as we know, She of Divine Mammarial Supremacy does not eat. She is nourished by the glory of her might!

Rather, let us join hands and unite as one consciousness as we duck, scream, and hold!

Who Needs E When There's the TV Guide Channel?

So, as previously mentioned (long-windedly), this Sunday is the Oscars! Wee! And we all know that the best part of the Oscars is not celebrating filmic excellence, but making fun of people on the red carpet!

Am I right?

And, as any American with his priorities in order knows, E! is the place to go for red carpet coverage. But not anymore. Trust me on this. Forgo the E! and click on down to the TV Guide Network.

After all, why would you watch cock-obsessed muppet Ryan Seacrest and Skeletor McMarried-to-that-dude-from-The-Apprentice on E!, when TV Guide Network’s coverage is hosted by a laboratory-made hybrid?

TGA2J Exclusive: Posh (Via Her Spokeswoman, Poshbot) Wishes You a Majah Christmas

We here at TGA2J have been given a very special message from Her Intergalactic Sublimity, Victoria Beckham, just in time for Christmas!!!!

I know!

Quoth Posh: "I look majah. Happy Christmas."

Uh! Thrilling!

Just look at her! She is as dazzling as a Christmas tree, delicious as a candy cane, and perfect and blameless as the baby G himself, wearing ceremonial robes and foot dressings of her own design! She is a paragon of resplendent faultlessness! And she is blessing both me and you--yes YOU!--with her Yuletide sanctity!

Also, fun guessing game: can you determine which ones are Posh and which ones are Poshbot, her cyborg alter ego whom she manipulates via remote control from poolside? Think carefully. It's tricky.

Find out which is the real Posh after the jump.

The Obligatory Madonna Post, Or: Not Quite, Rihanna (and Thank God)

Very quickly, before we get started here: I have read Madonna’s brother’s tell-all, Life with My Sister Madonna, in its entirety by making multiple visits to local Barnes & Noble outlets (please—as if I’m going to pay $27 for this kind of shit), and I can confirm that it is, in fact, the most poorly and dully written book I've ever read and that Madonna is, in fact, batshit fucking crazy.

Anyway. So I’m becoming increasingly more concerned about Madonna and Wonky Wonky Facelift.

Sorry, I need a moment to prepare before I continue.

Okay. Here goes.

I am becoming increasingly afeard that Madonna has jumped the shark.

There I said it.

I know! I know, I know, I know. But come on.

Remember the days—as recently as just two years ago—when a Madonna tour ushered in a whole new ethos, a whole new version of Madonna that spawned an instant set of trends that set the world on fire? Let us not forget that last fall’s equestrian craze arrived on runways shortly after this:

And the whole bootleg jeans and cowboy shirt look from 2000 hardly needs mentioning since people are STILL DOING IT.

Well, I am confused as to what new version of herself Madonna is endeavoring to create this time around. Because the only new ethos I can gather from this latest incarnation is one of a totally fug, ridiculous asshole.

I mean:

Eew.

Also:

Absolutely not.

Plus:

I’m sorry. What?

And finally:

Now, just...fuck you. There’s a difference between cheeky and just plain ol’ fucking ridiculous. This is the latter. More importantly, it’s the ugliest and stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you in.

(Also, is that a Barbie in the bottom right corner?)

But I know that a Madonna concert-goer does not live by costumes alone. The play’s the thing, as they say. But I am also deeply troubled by the concert clips I’ve seen on YouTube, which make me concerned that her current tour might actually be a bit shit in more ways than just the sartorial.

So imagine my terror when I heard that Rihanna recently covered “Vogue” at the Fashion Rules awards or whatever the hell it’s called, which I had kind of forgotten even existed because nobody actually watches it anymore and never actually did in the first place. “Oh dear!” I thought. “What if it’s…(gulp)…better?”

I needn’t have worried. Here’s the clip:

I mean, sure, yeah, whatever, fine, okay. But, sorry, zzzzzzzzzzz...

(Though, between you and me: girl looks better than the original. I know, I know. But I’m sorry. She does. Please review pictures above.) Good for her and all, but Rihanna’s “Vogue” doesn’t hold a candle to even Madonna’s trying-too-hard, overkill “Vogue” and “4 Minutes” mash-up currently being performed in a sports arena near you, which makes me giggle with delight because it contains—wait for it—hip-hop vogueing. I most certainly will not shut up! It’s true! Observe:

Stupid? Yes. Desperate? Definitely. Still deeply awesome anyway in spite of itself? Correct.

And after all, it could be a lot worse.

The Obligatory Posh Post, Or: Hmmm...

So Her Incomparable Excellence has changed her hair.

Meh. I don’t know. It’s not bad. But it’s definitely not majah either. It’s a touch on the side of Spunky Aerobics Instructor or Overeager Elementary School Art Teacher. However, I agree that she needed to change it. I mean, once your haircut has its own name (The Pob) and every woman in America—not to mention a handful of ultra-gay menz—has it—right on down to Queens trash hairdressers that are so tanned you can’t tell if they’re white or indigenous—and you’re Her Infinite Celestial Perfection, it’s time to change. We can’t have her becoming The Rachel 2.0 now, can we?

Anyway. Other than the haircut, I’d like to present to you the following photos for review.

Don’t you give me that coquettish look, Victoria, or you’re going to get a spanky on your bum…

Now all kidding aside, listen very carefully: The next two are each varying degrees of terrifying, so I suggest you visit the potty and swallow any and all liquids that may be taking residence in your mouth at the present before scrolling down.

Seriously, J. Lo is going to eat me. She is .03 seconds away from lurching through the MacBook screen—from the past, across space and time—to sink her teeth into my jugular. That is how evil she is. Don’t look at her too long or she will digest your soul without you even realizing it. Observe how Poshbot positions herself away from J. Lo—and yes, this is definitely Poshbot and not Posh, because Posh would NEVER deign to give audience to a fool like J. Lo, for two reasons: A—J. Lo is not worthy, and 2—J. Lo is terrifying and has been secretly converted to a vampire by Marc Anthony, and Posh has most certainly had her IT staff enter this information into Poshbot’s run sequence, so that even Poshbot’s circuits know that J. Lo’s evil and vulgarity are to be avoided at all costs. You can see it on Posbhot’s face here. Poshbot’s hard drive is all “Oh FUCK-TO-THE-NO,” because Posh was lounging poolside at Soho House with her remote control shouting “Avert thine eyes! Initiate aversion sequence! Initiate aversion sequence! Duck, scream and hold!”

And finally:

Salient points of interest:

1. Really Marc? A kilt? Made of purple crushed velvet? Really? No, but really? Also, I miss nerdy artiste Marc Jacobs. That Marc Jacobs was hot. This one always looks methed-out. Thanks.

2. I have sat side-by-side on the patio of West Hollywood gay-homosexual watering hole The Abbey (eew, don’t tell anyone) and can report that he is every bit as ridiculous as you would assume. Also, I can never forgive him for this.

3. You also could not pay me enough money to sit on his lap.

4. I like the dress. S’like a bathrobe. S’cute.

For more information about Posh's hairstyles, here's a link to some very sad person's un-updated blog dedicated entirely to the subject.