Quote:
Originally posted by Nicole
"Oh, your poor thing," Gaga says (forever in Countess mode now) in a voice that is meant to be warm and affectionate but comes off condescending. "Whatever is the problem? Tell Stefani, and we'll see what we can do."
A teary-eyed Ke$ha snorts a dangling loogie back into her nostril. "Luke, he RAPED me and..."
"Oh sweetheart," Gaga interrupts. She loves to hear herself talk. She pulls Ke$ha near and wipes away her tears. "There there, rest your head upon my breast." She pets Ke$ha's head like she's some kind of poor, lost, pathetic dog. "We'll make it alright. I promise."
Ke$ha cries into Gaga chest, unaware that Gaga is scrolling through the emails on her phone now.
"Now then," Gaga says, distracted by the emails but trying to sound present. "What's all this about rape?"
Ke$ha looks up with wet, pleading eyes. "Well, we were in the studio and..."
Suddenly Gaga's eyes widen at something on her phone. She forcefully SHOVES Ke$ha away. Ke$ha falls and smacks her head on the floor, hard.
Gaga runs out of her dressing room. "Bobby!!" she screams, calling for her new manager. "TMZ just posted that Bette Middler died! I've waited so long to do a Wind Beneath My Wings tribute at the Oscars' In Memoriam!"
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Gaga's angular, unnaturally stretched features fall as her manager explains that Bette's death is merely a hoax. Then she checks herself, pretending to seem relieved instead of disappointed. To the perceptive critic of acting, however, her performance is unconvincing.
An Intel official nervously sidles up to the songstress. He congratulates Gaga on her successful tribute and attempts to discuss further deals with her manager. Gaga irritably interrupts them.
"Would you give it a rest now?" She snaps, her New York accent breaking through her affected Countess tones. "I've done the tribute with all your bells and whistles, can I stop pretending to give a damn about technology and innovation and all this godforsaken paraphernalia." She raises her arms dramatically in an attempt to seem like a 1950's Hollywood legend. "Can this old gal just get back to her whisky and jazz and Rocket Man records in peace?!" (She forgets Rocket Man is not a Bowie song.)
Bobby tries to distract her by showing her the heaps of praise she is receiving on Twitter. Her eyes light up and her toothy mouth stretches into a smile. "It's just like the Superbowl! Did you see all of them in the audience? They loved me! It's just like my fans on the forums said, my career is coming back!" She snatches Bobby's phone away and uses it to tell Lady Starlight to hop on a plane to LA.
A strange wailing fills the corridor. The scene is disrupted by a distraught Rihanna hurtling along in broken heels, her dress covered in powder and her face streaked with tears. "Leave me alone!" She cries, "Me no wanna wer! Me album tanked and I just wanna smoke and cry meself to sleep!" Her speech descends into island gibberish. Jay-Z strides after her, desperately trying to encourage her without using threats.
A ghostly white figure watches the scene with a painted smile. Beyonce smirks as her husband flusters with excuses for Rihanna's absence. "Just tell them she has bronchitis." She suggests cruelly, trying hard not to cackle as Jay looks hopeful and thanks her. She calms herself by rummaging through her clutch bag (no foul hot sauce to be found) and bringing out a mirror. She checks her complexion: it's a lovely pale shade, yet she can still see the aged lines under the heavy makeup. Ms Knowles scowled darkly, feeling her straightened hair curl slightly in the heat. "I like ma baby heir with baby hair ma ass," she drawls. She heads back to her lavish dressing room for a touch up.
Forgotten in all the commotion, Kesha lies unconscious on the floor yet again. Her body naturally shuts down from force of habit. It will be hours before she's remembered.
expose that 2-faced bitch!
