Monday, September 14, 2009

For God and the Gays Akimbo

Well, thanks to some inopportune soapboxing, a touching MJ tribute and...really because of Lady Gaga, the VMAs managed to leap back from numbing irrelevance to put on one hell of a show. An awful show forged in the bowels of hell, yes, but, hey, we were definitely entertained. So let's take a break from Fashion Week and sort through the shitshow with which MTV has yet again burdened the world.

There was a lot of chit chat about this being all about the ladies, with B and Gags monopolizing the majority of the nods (but as far as we're concerned, it's always about the ladies). Sadly, though, there was no Mugler-off, as AnA had hoped/predicted, but neither lady disappointed.

Mrs. Carter earned some MAJOR diva points upon receiving Video of the Year for our nation's new national anthem, when she let accidental star of the night, Taylor Swift, finish her thank you speech -- in a completely unrehearsed and unscripted moment -- that was so rudely, though understandably, interrupted earlier. Beyoncé owns all of us. If you need further proof, just watch her suitably epic rendition of "Single Ladies."

There she goes, Miss Tranny America.

There, but for the grace of B, go head girlfriend.

Lady Gaga is officially AnA's favorite person right now. Not that she didn't give us plenty of reason before, but tranny took it to an entirely different level thanks to an ever-evolving wardrobe during the show's three (hundred) hours. Despite being robbed for best pop video by an absent and vacant Britney Spears, Gaga emerged the clear winner of the night.

Gaga + Gaultier= A dysfunctional gay marriage made in haute couture heaven

Oh. And then there's her genital-quavering performance of "Paparazzi," which will inevitably go down in VMA history, and will be pantomimed daily at the AnA loft for the next three months.

Insert gratuitous feminine hygiene joke here.

Changing the world, one outrageous headpiece at a time.

Thrust that tiny silver lamé man in the air, you've earned it. We also love how you apparently thrust your face into a mound of cocaine, a la the last 10 minutes of Scarface, before entering the press room. It's called being a pro.

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