Madonna has revealed the true tragedy of Superstorm Sandy: that we had gone, like, days since we had to look at her bare ass.
You can’t blame her for being so self-involved. In her house, it’s always half-past Madonna.
Performing Monday at Madison Square Garden, Madonna turned her back on the audience and started a slow-mo striptease to “Like a Virgin.” The words “No Fear” were written across her back (I presume because she didn’t have room for, oh, THE NUMBER FOR THE RED FRIGGIN’ CROSS). As she disrobed, she implored the audience to put up some cash if they were going to be looking “at the crack of [her] ass.”
“You always know just what to say.” – Hurricane Sandy Victim
Listen, Madge, I get it. You look ah-mazing for any age, much less for 54. You want to share it. You should not be barred from baring any lady bits or lady bit-adjacent parts, regardless of your age. Strip all you want until the day you die — for entertainment. For titillation (heh). For art. But not for charity. See, what I’m saying here, Madonna, is that NOW IS NOT THE TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME.
Evidence of her poor sense of timing: this is Madonna at her kids’ parent-teacher conference.
Stripping for Sandy victims? Questionable taste or absolute lack of utility aside, your philanthropic striptease doesn’t even make sense. It would be like simulating a sex act with an inflatable walrus to raise awareness for Restless Leg Syndrome: it has nothing to do with anything. At least if you’d performed “Like a Sturgeon” and used the opportunity to talk about catastrophic impact of slowly stripping the world of polar ice caps, I’d get it.
I’m trying to be fair here, though, Madge. Maybe you felt squeamish, throwing a rager at Madison Square Garden while so many New Yorkers and New Jersey residents are still shivering in the dark, and wanted to inject a little altruism amidst the cone bras. Maybe you wanted to remind your concertgoers to do their part. Both are honorable motives. So write a big-ass check.
See, Madonna? She *has* stopped imitating you.
So project “Text REDCROSS to 90999″ on every inch of white space in the Garden. So pass a hat. I *think* you have a dancer or two to spare?
And finally: the next time you get the charitable urge, stop and test the idea with your kids. ”So, thousands and thousands of people are hurting after losing their homes and, in some cases, their loved ones. They are living in the cold and the dark. What if Mommy shows her butt to 20,000 strangers?” Sure, Lourdes is 15 and probably blase about Mom’s shenanigans (“No, Aunt Mary. Mom can’t come to the phone. She’s hoovering up spare change for the Will Rogers Foundation using her genitals and an ear trumpet.”) But the younger ones would never steer you wrong. From the mouths of babes and all that.
“Yes, yes, it is I, Madonna. Hello! Oh…oh…you’re…trying to wave down a rescue worker from your makeshift boat. Well, this is awkward.”
Madonna, I like you. I like your music. I believe you can use your insane overexposure and piles of cash for good. Just please stop making every event of national or global significance a headline grab for you or your rockin’ bod. It makes you a joke and it drives me insane. And if you’ve taught me nothing else over the last thirty years, Madonna, it’s that it is all about me.
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About Molly Martin
