NSFW DEPT: If This Isn't the Photograph of the Year My Name is Madonna

(Scroll down for actual photo, which is depraved.)

I think I might be late to this party, because I'm late to most parties (if I'm even invited), but I have just returned from a wildly religious out-of-body experience after seeing this thoroughly random photo for the first time. WHO TOOK IT? (Pedro Almodovar?) I just came across it over at the gay-as-hail L.A. Rag Mag site but there's no information about its origins. Obviously, that's Madonna in her pajamas in the foreground, but what's going on back there, by the pool, hmmm?

Well, supposedly that is the naked version of her ex-lovah Jesus Luz (which translates to "Jesus Light," for the religious among you). You might remember him from this post. It doesn't matter that he doesn't have a head, because who cares about that? The important thing is the rippled, aggressive nakedness and the priceless expression on Our Lady of the Immaculate Money Shot's face. Haven't you always dreamed Madonna would look at you that way while a ferociously attractive naked man with no head hovered mysteriously behind her? Of course you have. You're only human.

In conclusion, this picture almost makes up for her last godawful album cover.

The Great "Madonna is a Trannie" Debate Continues (Begins?)

God bless the Associated Press caption writers. Sometimes they are understandably confused.

As an important power player in the New York publishing world, I obviously receive the AP's daily email blasts of notable photos that I should know about and perhaps bring up in strategy meetings (catered by Dunkin Donuts and sadness). Not any old person can gain access to these precious images. You have to sign up and create a password!

Anyway, I received the above image of Madonna and boytoy Jesus in my inbox this morning along with a caption that gave voice to an unresolved issue in 21st-century Madonna-ology. It's clear that the overworked monkeys in the AP caption-writing salon have one thing in common with all of us human primates: we just aren't clear on what gender classification to give Madge these days. As Liz Lemon says, Madonna's arms are crazy! She's more man than my boyfriend Jimmy is, and I don't think he would dispute that. (I would let him speak for himself but he's at the beauty parlor getting a weave.) This is why you end up with AP captions like this:



I just can't believe that the Associated Press is suggesting that our Lord Jesus is a gay trannie lover. Sarah Palin's Facebook response in 4, 3, 2, ...

The Madonna-Guy Ritchie Split Explained, Briefly

If you're anything like me, you are shocked--shocked!--that Madonna and hunky director of pointless movies Guy Ritchie are splitting. It's just hotly unfathomable, like an Elizabeth Taylor divorce. Who would have predicted this?! Not me, obviously, because I'm not as smart as the New York Post. But apparently the signs of trouble have been out there for a while, what with Madonna's rumored romancing of some soccer player (cricket player? bingo nut?) named A-Rod.

Such big news. But how did it happen? How does a marriage built on such solid foundations as vanity, brutal sex appeal, tons and tons of money and servants, and being British fail? My boyfriend Jimmy and I have none of those advantages, and yet somehow we're still together after 11 years. What gives?

No one person is to blame when a relationship goes south. And it appears that this conventional wisdom is rock solid truth in the case of Madonna and Ritchie. They are both equally to blame, for being twitteringly insane f**king a**holes. Britain's Daily Mail reports that Ritchie told Madonna she looked "like a granny" when dancing on stage with her younger, blacker back-up dancers. Which is kind of true, but you just don't say that!

And Madonna--whew, she is a big piece of crazy pie, according to the same paper. No dairy allowed in the house (but what about your morning coffee? And cheese?!); no television; no sugar; no salt; no sausage!; lots of manic exercising, water drinking, miso soup eating, and "retiring at night slathered in £500-a-pot cream and covered in a plastic body-suit to hold back the signs of ageing."

I think it's the sausage that ultimately did it. If Jimmy tried to take away my sausage I would push him out the window.

Today in Growing Old Gracefully: Madonna

As all you homosexuals out there surely know, Madonna's crotch's new album Hard Candy is coming out this week, which is why all across NYC rainbow flags have been flying at half mast. It's certainly a time to celebrate. I mean, Madonna's crotch is 50 years old now, and it's STILL starved for attention. Just like you and I will be when we're 50. (In other words, Madonna's crotch is just like us!)

You would think that after all these years Madonna's crotch--surely the hardest working crotch in the business-- would be tired and ready to retire to the south of France, but it appears the party is just getting started. I mean, look at the cover of this album. So much pink. So much. Think of all that Madonna's crotch has been through over the years--Sean Penn, Warren Beatty, Sandra Bernhard's mouth, Lourdes and Rocko, not to mention fierce competition from the younger generation of proud vag flashers like Britney and that Lohan girl--and it's still clamoring for its close-up. Well, thankfully it's time for another album, because the crotch wants out of the house.

This album cover is not embarrassing. Not embarrassing at all.