Oh The Douchebaggery

Or the walking dead leather-people, as it turns out.

Thank god.
I despise the claw-fisted pilate'er that is Madonna.

Don't get me wrong...I went through a period (as most 80's era pre-teen girls were wont to do) where all of my fashions were dictated by Ms. Blonde Reptilian. I mean ambition...who? what?

Don't get me started about my first trip to an actual Broadway show.

I arrived wearing a mesh sweater with only a lace belt, matching fingerless gloves, and an awful case of Material Girl.

There was a time.
There was a place.

It's called the eighties. Early MTV, guys!.

Point is, Madonna had her day.

Long live Madonna!

But her corpse has got to realize that it ain't gonna' happen again.

The salad days are OVER!

Oooh, I get heated up over Madge.

Now she's in legal ramblings with the government of Malawi.
Lay Ninja-style law on her ass already!

Snap!
I smell alliteration.
Sorry.

All these esses (shut it--- spell check! it's a word!), and m's?

Oh yeah. Madonna blows a mighty hard trumpet of suck-dom.

And she has been attempting to basically kidnap Malawian baby girl Mercy for over 5 months now.

I am lil' Georgie Washington!

I cannot tell a lie!

I have been praying for this adoption to fall flat...

Not because I think this child deserves to be raised by a father who clearly wants her, or because the alternative is being forced to live with Jesus Luz' next corpse bride..

But because that lil' baby stole my name!

I had it first, and, I know.....
that once the Bride of Frankenstein has her gnarly mitts on it...

Shoot!

All bets are off.