Oh, Cher. Sweetie, darling. We need to talk. Woman to…whatever form you’ve now taken these days. I’m not going to get down in the gutter and comment on your appearance. That’s childish and lazy. I do feel obligated to remark that being over 50% plastic might run you afoul of certain EPA regulations and put your Sierra Club membership into question. I imagine that being “green” is something you greatly cherish, so your flesh to pharmaceutical ratio might need to be realigned. Again, I only comment upon this out of polite concern.
But I digress.
Ms. Cher, you seemed to have a gnat in your mint mojito regarding a one, Mrs. Sarah Palin. No idea what brought that about, but as I am one of your million plus followers on Twitter, I needn’t guess the actual cause of your consternation toward Mrs. Palin. On any given day, your tweets are posted not as if they were written by a human of minimal intelligence burdened like many of us with sausage fingers, but rather as if a young squirrel has drunkenly scurried back and forth over your iPad while careful to pass the CAPS LOCK key amid his to and fros.
Your tweets, ma’dam, are in a word: Bizarre.
There are plenty more of these little gems to pull from the Mountain of Cher, but you get the point. I follow your account less out of musical interest, but more out of sheer morbid amusement. I don’t think something like you could exist anywhere else but in the circus that is Hollywood. Much like the PT Barnum days, I gladly plunk down 2 cents to see the Fiji Mermaid even though I know it’s a fake. It’s just too crazy to pass up.
Ms. Cher, I have sympathy for your plight in trying to stay “hip” and “relevant” in a world of Miley Cyruses and Lady Gagas. Joints don’t bend the way they used to, and make up change after make up change probably pulls off a little more skin than you’d like. Time is hard on the old body, but cheer up, you’re not the first to experience it and won’t be the last. Embrace the drooping! Rawr! Gurl power! Or something like that. Forgive me, I’m an atheist in the Church of Our Feminist Angry Pants and I don’t rightly know your hymns.
I’m sorry that you find Mrs. Palin and your countrymen who differ from your beliefs to be so unpalatable. I’m sorry good taste and manners are equally unpalatable to you. Perhaps one day, good fashion sense will seek a path to your doorstep. In the meantime, try to get more sleep to avoid the “crankies” and kindly refrain from engaging the CAPS LOCK on your smart phone. No need to shout, sweetie, darling. Your clothes do all the talking for you.