I did not watch the game. I don’t care about football. The only thing that bothers me about the entire event is that no-one let me know that Beckham had an underwear ad premiering. Are we not friends, people? How could you think I wouldn’t need to know about that? The only reason I’m not de-friending the lot of you is because I’m sure I can find it on youtube (did you think I was going to wait? Dear God, is he talking? I don't know and I don't care. He is a miracle of hotness. Must stop looking).
What was I talking about? Oh right: Madonna. As I mentioned I watched none of the Super Bowl so this is not a review of her act. This is simply a review of the fact that SHE. IS. 53. YEARS. OLD.
I don’t care if she drinks the blood of virgins, puppies, kittens, or newborn infants or some cocktail thereof. I don’t care if she dates minors. I don’t even care if there is not a single natural ingredient left in her skin because if she’s hijacked the plastic surgery train she’s done a better job of it than the majority of her peers.
Look at this. I’m 3 years younger than her and I could no more wear something like this and, more importantly, bend my knees like this than I could fit into my high school jeans. To even attempt it- you don't need that visual.
There’s no message here. I’ve always liked Madonna if only for the fact that she has never strayed from her vision of herself and that’s a huge deal for a woman- any woman. Like her, hate her, she doesn’t care. I’m only here to point out that SHE. IS. 53. YEARS. OLD. Bitches.