Butterfly Goes For Lady Gaga

I’ve always believed that Sundays were given solely for the purpose of recovering from hangovers or adrenaline tagged activities like channel surfing and having Mac delivery, or if I’m really lucky, maybe I’ll get a blowjob, while do all that.

After all, it is the Sabbath day, and I intend to – and usually do – honour all sabbatical renditions with the right approach, and that is with a lot of sleep and an equally sinful dose of laziness.

I’ve never been an ardent fan of pop music to begin with – yes, occasionally I am guilty of a private karaoke session in the car to Britney Spears – but generally I will not even spend any bandwidth on downloading those songs.

So, when I was given VIP invites to Lady Gaga, I accepted it with as much enthusiasm a polio kid would have for the mass dance on Prom night. I just assumed that it would be a cool event to be at because there were the words, ‘cocktail reception’ printed on it.

When we got there, we saw a huge line already formed up and we immediately had qualms about even making the walk there because it was 6.30pm and there was still a sun very much present, and perspiring on a Sunday from anything other than sex, is just somewhere below, ‘getting defecated on’ in my ‘Things Never To Do List’.

Even while I was waiting at the VIP queue, the people around us were raving about how excited they were and how much they were dying to see the showcase and immediately, Poca and I felt like we were alopecians queuing at a shampoo discount line.

The great thing was that VIP for this event actually meant VIP and there was priority access and a chaperone that escorted us from the reception area to the VIP area. I didn’t understand why there was such a need because it was pretty much a single walkway, but I also understand the need to have contingency for stupidity. If men can't get even wear their boxers right, what’s getting lost in dome?

The lead up to the actual show was horrible, saved only for the fact that there was one segment where they got four ‘lucky’ people to get on stage to compete for a chance to win ‘attractive’ prizes.

I say ‘lucky’ because no one is really lucky when they have to go on stage for these shit. For one, you will almost always get laughed at and people like me are still going to laugh at you after you get down, and really, if you look at it objectively, it’s really a carnival field day of humiliation.

I also said ‘attractive’ because, you are never going to win real prizes at these events. It’s not like you get to win a car or holiday, and you’re like only going to win related products like t-shirts and if you were really awesome and you trashed the competition, you get a free CD. Like, whoopee doo, you saved $18, could have downloaded it for free anyway, and you were decently humiliated. Mum must be proud.

So they had on this one guy and three other girls who looked like they had to sign a parental consent form just to be out past 7pm. What they had to do, was to do a strut and pose, or at least that was what I thought they were supposed to do.

The first guy that went up was the epitome of how I would want my main character in a comic book to be if I was going to write about the gay dork community. He was so incredibly thin, you would worship at his feet if he told you he beat obesity. He was also tall and he had on clothes that I would appreciate if I was ten years younger and didn’t want to hook up with any women for the rest of my life.

He was such an awkward mess that even him walking to the front was a comical sight to begin with. If if I thought that was hilarious, everyone responded to his pose attempt with the only way possible.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

It was a raucous pandemonium of whistles and laughs. He was so bad at posing, he made the Statue of Liberty look like it was doing a full on para para dance. It was hilarious, to the point that I was worried I would rupture an appendix because I actually believed that if they gave spastics a chance to catwalk, this was exactly how it was going to look like.

The second girl was equally entertaining to watch, just that we had no idea what she was trying to do, because she was incorporating so many motions at once, like a hip toss and a butt shake and maybe she was also doing the Macarena at some point. If this was a seminar on multi-tasking, I would have stood up and shouted, “I want to be like her!”.

But, it wasn’t, so I turned to Huixx and Poca.

Me: “That is Parkinson’s disease!”

The other two wasn’t half as funny and the last girl by far was actually the only one amongst them that looked like she didn’t have a psycho motor dysfunction. When it came to the crowd to vote who they thought it should win, we had a hunch on how this was actually going to swing.

Immediately when the MCs pointed to the guy, the crowd erupted and I emphasize, erupted with cheers – the same sort you would hear during the Paralympics. The other three hardly even came anywhere remotely close to what the crowd was rooting the boy for and it puzzled the MCs because this was clearly the worst performer of the lot.

One of the MCs remarked,

MC: “Do you know what this is called?”

Of course we fucking know what this is called. It’s called COMMUNISM, because we were clearly giving someone who was clearly unequal, an equal chance. And we even allowed him win. If this isn’t a Communist product, then nothing Xiao Ping has done, is.

When Lady Gaga came on, it was half as appealing for me. I came partly because I did secretly increased the volume when ‘Poker Face’ came on the radio and also because she was a stripper and I was expecting some serious pole dance shit to come on midway.

She was entertaining, I have to credit her for that and I will admit that she does have good stage presence and pretty awesome vocals – and cleavage, from where I was. Just that, when I have seen four idiots pranced around, watching professionals do it isn’t as engaging.

Now, if anyone has tickets to a Spelling Bee competition for people with lisp, I want VIP tickets for that.