There Can Be Only One

She’d woken up that morning feeling like P. Diddy, but now she was battling for survival.

Her opponent was skilled, and the fight seemed hopeless, yet the alternative was unthinkable.

To be slain, and devoured, her power absorbed into her assassin.

Finally disarmed, seemingly doomed, the time came for her secret weapon.

A black Bic lighter.

Holding it to her mouth, she exhaled a plume of flame into the air, sending her opponent staggering in shock and pain.

“Why should that surprise you?” Ke$ha asked an astonished Lady Gaga, “You knew I brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack.”

After the Concert

They surged forward, a wave of angles, clashing colours and plunging lines.

Some figures were suited to revealing homemade costumes, some most definitely not. No two getups alike, nor two wigs identical, yet there was a definite unifying theme between them.

And worn with such pride! Such passion! The sort of defiant self-belief required to keep them from appearing laughable. They had it. All of them.

I watched them run from the concert and into the streets, screaming in joy, and the seventeen year old Goth I used to be smiled.

Godspeed, you ladies Gaga. Let your freak flags fly!

And There She Was

Shouldn’t have been surprising. It was, after all, her afterparty, but I didn’t expect to see her there.

But there she was. Shorter than I’d imagined, yet larger than life, with a weird energy about her. I’d seen the concert, but in person she was somehow more vivid.

I knew she wanted privacy after a taxing performance, but I had to meet her. I steeled myself, went to where she and her entourage sat, and spoke up.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I have to ask. Is there a Lord Gaga?”

Later that evening, I ate her heart.

And her brain.