Nicki Minaj: blonde clown wig, white makeup, bright carnation pink'd lipstick, red onesie, 20 bangles. Knocks on Beyoncé's door, glue and art supplies float off onto Welcome mat.
The way she latches onto Taylor is annoying. And the only reason she's been successful this era is because of Taylor as Taylor knows the greats in the industry who most likely helped Selena out.
Lord knows this too and that is why she is Her indentured servant when she isn't promoting.
"You know what to do." Beyonce, filing hooker nails, nods head and points witch'd'ly at stiff, drooling Blue Ivy (heart beat has slowed to 40BPM). Ellie takes the child into a huge bedroom, hooks up to IV; watches, reading People magazine.
Beyoncé shakes her head; Ellie will be fired soon. She thinks of Tidal - serious boardrooms, tired executives, her husband sweating. Kanye and Anti are not enough. She sends a quick text to her music factory: "ALBM SOON. DONT B SLICK - IM WAITEING. BB"
The mirror shows deep lines - stress, smoking, age. She picks up foundation. "Skin tone is vital" she thinks. Her activism must appear faultless.
Come, daughter. Can I be momma for you?