Show Me Your Teeth!
Confession: I like Lady Gaga.
It wasn’t intentional. If it hadn’t been for my tweenage niece having Alejandro and Paparazzi in heavy rotation last year, I probably would only know Ms Gaga for confusing me by naming her album/tour the same as that hot and sad Halle Berry-Billy Bob Thornton movie. After living with Alejandro in my head as an earworm for a year, we seemed like old roommates.
Last Saturday night, clicking around the cable since COPS had been pre-empted for NASCAR or some shit, I came across the HBO Monster Ball special. WTF, I’ll watch for a minute. I’d contemplated taking my niece to this show when it came to Portland, but tickets were $180 apiece and I didn’t want to spend the major portion of a house payment on speculation, so I figured I’d tell her about the TV special. Her response?
Meh.
So I watched it. And I fucking liked it! I approached the Gaga show the same way I did the Kid Rock show. Will watch, laugh and point until I can’t stands no more then boom, we outta here. And, just like the Kid Rock show, I stayed until the end, and even teared up at one point. Fuck you, Alejandro. And your paparazzi! (*sniffle*)
I would love to see a Lady Gaga/Kid Rock co-headlining tour, if for no other reason than to watch the little monsters come out of hiding and beat the crap out of all the 20 or so Coors Light-drinking hillbillies that love Kid Rock but “hate fags.” One of the meanest, most vicious fights I’ve ever seen were two gay dudes kung fu fighting in the street. (An innocent bystander was killed.) Like zombies catching and eating the dickish asshole in a George Romero film, it would be a joyous finish to a messy affair. Someone explain to Kid Rock that he can open the show. That way he can start drinking earlier, and the punched-out hillbillies will already be gone by the time the show is over.
Dimebag Darryl and Bros
She looked, but didn’t touch. “Is that…”
“Crack? No, but it could pass in a dark alley, no?”
“Is that a tooth?”
“Yup.” I flashed a long-toothed grin. Her shudder was Hollywood worthy.
I tucked the baggie away and brought it home. It will end up in my collection of body parts stashed at Clairissa’s, next to the eight-year-old hairball. The tooth on the right in the picture is the one from St Patrick’s Day a few years back. The one on the left didn’t come out of my head. Clairissa bought it at a garage sale for a dollar and gave it to me, so technically it is my tooth. The remnants in the middle baggie were the ones I was tempted to foist off on an unsuspecting crackhead. Go ahead and test it officer. I doubt it will turn blue.
Thank you, Lady Gaga, for giving me an excuse to show off. Show you my teeth?
Yes, Ma’am.
