I emailed Pollstar about Katy's numbers and this is what they told me:
Our estimates are based upon what has been submitted during the time period of our charts. We contact the artist representatives of each artist who is a candidate for our charts. In Katy Perry's case we received help with her European dates but no assistance with the Asian dates. Reports that we do not have solid information for we do our best to estimate conservatively.
The reports in our database at the time we finalized our charts gave Katy 17 million US dollars. We had to estimate the Asian market. We are always trying to make inroads in to markets worldwide. I will make sure I contact AEG in Asia before we run our next set of charts.
Now I'm thinking that marrying camel wasn't a bad choice after all. Esp. when your "beauty" is a fraud. Mess, beyst is so fake. Her natural look is so much different and uglier than what she publishes on her fraudulent instragram
she's a parent taking her little girls to a Taylor Swift concert, just like every other adult there.
not only did Taylor end Katy but also took her audience, ruthless
A dingy hole-in-the-wall jazz bar that doubles as a brothel on the weekend. On the window hangs a “C” Sanitary Inspection Grade. Inside, a cockroach scurries across the bar floor and onto the stage. A high-heeled boot STOMPS it dead. The boot is imitation leather, the scuffing filled out with a black marker. Lady Gaga looks down at the roach she just killed and imagines it’s Katy Perry. Her short, corpulent frame is squeezed into an ill-fitting Nordstrom Rack sequined “mermaid” gown.
“Hey fellas!” she calls out in her best Mae West impression. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here??” She thinks talking like this makes her more sound more “old-school showbiz.” A waiter pours cheap Costco scotch-whiskey into a chipped glass and brings it to her on the stage.
She takes the glass with a pudgy arm covered in a giant “Lady Gaga Is Over” tattoo (the “ironic” title of her 5th and final pop album). She takes a big gulp of whiskey and starts hollering “DID YOU EVER KNOW THAT YOU’RE MY HERO” in a raspy voice ravaged by alcohol. Behind her a sign reads “Bette Midler Tribute Night.”
About a dozen middle-aged drunks sit at the bar drowning their sorrows in $5 beer. Lady Gaga’s voice rises — “YOU’RE EVERYTHING I WISH I COULD BEEEEE” — in a failed attempt to get their attention. “Oh well,” she thinks to herself. "At least I got paid for this gig." An $80 check is stuffed in her bra.
Suddenly a black transvestite wanders into the bar and starts cheering for her. Lady Gaga's eyes well with tears. "I am remembered. I am known," she thinks to herself. Encouraged, she downs the rest of her whiskey and goes for the kill: “CUZZZZ YOU ARE THE WIIIIIND BENEATH MY WIIIIIIIIIIINGS!!!!!” she wheezes and shouts and growls, thinking she ended the song on a triumphant note.
“Homegirl, you done snatched my weave and strangled me with it! I am deceased!” calls out the transvestite in praise. (later that night, he will be killed in the alley behind the bar.)
One of the guys at the bar nudges his drinking buddy and points to Lady Gaga (who’s refilling her glass with whiskey). “Who was that?” The drinking buddy squints his eyes at her. “Liza Minnelli, I think.”
I like Heidi.
