Sunday, August 18, 2013

I Saw Lady Gaga's Vagina and Now I Hate Myself.

I have a problem.

I am obsessed with seeing celebrities without their clothes on. It's not something I'm necessarily proud of, in fact, it might be getting a little out of hand. As soon as I hear that someone with a Wikipedia page had their iPhone hacked, I am all over that shit.

Do you know how long I searched for the uncensored version of Anthony Weiner's dick pictures? A really long time. Did I want to see it? Absolutely not.

See, it's a kind of a problem.

Oh, and I've seen them all--and their sex tapes.

I chalk it all up to being a curious human being and/or a sexual deviant. I'm not entirely sure which category I fall under yet. But I'm nearly positive if I was a man I would be in jail by now for peeping through someone's blinds. God bless my boobs. They're always getting me out of stuff, like tickets and criminal voyeurism.

Today I watched the Lady Gaga Kickstarter video that features her running around upstate New York naked, chanting and dry-humping crystals. You can find the video HERE, if you want to see some really odd shit for like two minutes.

I assume this video is similar to watching a snuff film. You know you should turn it off. You know that it's going to cause some irreversible damage. But, hell, you've already come this far.

Now don't get me wrong, not every photo/film of a celebrity or pseudo-celebrity taking their clothes off, to further their career and having their privacy violated, is scarring.

I saw Scarlett Johansson's breasts, and I'm a better person because of it. I also might be a little gay.

I've also seen Screech from Saved by the Bell's penis--and once again, I might be a little gay.

But something was different about watching Lady Gaga galavant around a forest with her vagina out. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be art, and I'm about as deep as a puddle. Or maybe because it wasn't some grainy, night-vision "mistake" done by a socialite who has had more baby juice in her than a sperm bank cup.

Either way, I think my pervin' days are done.

Unless there's ever a video of Ryan Gosling giving Gerard Butler a junk-out neck massage, because in that case I want that masterpiece playing at my wedding.

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