Open Letter to Madonna: PLEASE Stop Already!
Unlike my other colleagues here at CollegeCandy, when I was just a wee lass (that’s what you probably say now, and in a faux English accent, right?), I used to love you. I did. I was a fan. I loved your bangles, your lacy short socks, your polka-dotted headbands, your frizzy half-bleached blond hair, your apparent smelliness. I always imagined your scent to be a strong B.O., mixed with garlic, in “Borderline,” “Papa Don’t Preach,” and “Lucky Star.”
I adored your trashy “I’m-a-punky-girl-from-NYC” look, and when you spray painted stuff all over those Grecian statues, you were great! Of course, at the tender age of five, I didn’t realize that your look, your “raunchy NYC city-ness” was all totally faux, too. But that’s OK. Even though I know that you’re from Michigan, I’m still all right with that.
I even followed your music through the rougher spots, when it was icky as hell. I didn’t mind the whole India-moment (you were obviously doing a lot of soul searching), or the confusion you seemed to experience when you put out your last album (roller skates? Disco balls? Huh?). Remember all that silliness? You wore way too much disco-stuff and had Farrah Fawcett hair, even though the music didn’t sound a lick like something from the 70s.
But even that was OK. At least I could jog on the treadmill, and sweat myself to death, listening to your album, and tolerate it. (Although, the song about NYC, I think it’s track 5, was friggin’ awful. Who decided to keep that on there? Bad, bad, bad choice . . . I almost always fall off the treadmill around mile 2 when that f*&%$ song comes on – it’s a safety hazard!)
I’ve even ignored the critiques of why you decided to skip over the pond and settle in Merry Ol’ England. Pssst. Have you heard what they’ve said? People say it’s because your celebrity had all but dried up here, and that it was an attempt to regain famousness or something. Whatever. That’s fine. I’ve seen your castle, so I understand. If I had oodles of money like you, I’d kill to live in a castle with stables (I used to ride hunter jumper, so I get it.)
So, you see, Madge, I’ve overlooked A LOT of stuff that many think I shouldn’t have. There is, however, one thing I CANNOT and WILL NOT ignore. I will rant about it here on my blog letter to you, too.
WHY MUST YOU CONTINUE KISSING WOMEN?!?!? WHY?!?!?!? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!?!?!? WHAT IS WITH THIS CRAP?!?!?
I mean, fine. You kissed Britney Spears, like, 10 years ago. Funny, that happened a little before her life and star power crumbled to the horror of tweens and adults.
Whatever. It was some HUGE deal, ’cause you’re the MADONNA of today (inverting all holiness) and she’s the little pop princess, brutally manufactured and stripped of a real life by her 40-something ueber-male management team and her revolting momma. I do wonder…were you sucking out her soul? Is that why Brit-Brit fell from her pop princess pillar?
Moving on…Here you are AGAIN, kissing some dancer chica. Sorry, dancer lady, that sounds sexist, but look at you, too! Madonna stuck her slithering white tongue down your throat! That makes you a little Chiquita in my book, so you’re to blame for the dismissive label(s), I’ve slapped onto you here.
To be sure, I couldn’t care less that it’s a picture of two women kissing. Whatever. If this were a picture of two unknown and (hopefully) happy lesbians, great. Good for them. But it’s yet another picture of you, Madonna, kissin’ a chick. It’s stupid. It’s not shocking, because it’s downright dumb. You’re NOT shocking us anymore, because you’re OVER. Why do I care? I care because I’m embarrassed for you. You are so obviously out of touch. This is comin’ from a tried and true fan, Madge! You’re painfully oblivious and this picture is proof!
Also, what’s with the arms?!? Is this yet another sign of your mid-life crisis or WHAT? You’re grabbin’ this dancer, as if you were a strong-armed dude, or have the mentality of a guy who just looked in the mirror and realized that he’s going bald, and for real! While you’re not a dude, you’re a frightfully strong-armed woman. Sh*t! If I were your children, I’d be super scared of those muscles. Do you have a meaner hook than her hubby? I bet you do…
What’s even more annoying, you won’t allow your own children to watch T.V. Yet you made your millions upon millions of dollars through manipulating, changing, re-inventing YOUR image on the TELEVISION. But then again, would you want Lourdes to see you here, suckin’ this lady’s soul out of her little dancer body? Probably not.
I beg you. Please, please stop doing this.
With all of my love and revulsion,
your ol’ fan,