blonde hari


Am I the only Madonna fan who disliked STRIKE A POSE? 

The movie uses of cheap exploitative devices to bring up the tears through some of the dancers’ “pity me” party and left me wishing I had never heard of them again. First of all, the dancers did not get equal time on screen; the ones with “tragic” lives get more airtime while the ones who became successful in their lives are mostly in the background. This is a cheap, sensationalist way of using pathos to make the audience feel sorry for them - and, indirectly, feel mad at Madonna for “abandoning” a group of backstabbing, pathetic grown-up men. 

Why didn’t we see more of Carlton Wilborn’s career now? His home life? Because he is fine. So is Slam Gauwloos - who still is as bitchy as ever - proof that some people never change or become better versions of themselves. The only drama about him is that he is HIV positive and decided to reveal it on film. He has a studio and a partner. Kevin Stea, possibly the most pathetic of them all, only whines about “missing his friend” (the one he sued for more money after TRUTH OR DARE became a sensation). His professional life, however, is great. Luis Camacho? Not much is said about him - I guess nothing tragic has happened to be exploited there. The straight one, Oliver Crumes, made bad decisions, got involved with drugs, and ended up being a server at a restaurant. Boo hoo! And poor Jose Gutierez! He is the only one I actually feel sorry for because his mother is a real cunt. 

And speaking of cunt mothers, can I just say that Gabriel Trupin’s mother is a fucktard? Come on! Her son knew he was being filmed when he decided to kiss another man in front of the cameras. Now she portraits him as a clueless victim while accusing Madonna of forcing him out of the closet! Give me a fucking break woman! 

The whole “Madonna used us, then abandoned us” undertone is ridiculous, not to say unrealistic! Are YOU in touch with your boss from 27 years ago? And by boss, I’m not talking about a long professional relationship, I’m talking about a boss you worked for for less than a year! Well, I am not. I’m sure most people aren’t. So it is baffling how some of these pathetic men believe Madonna owes them anything and how, throughout this entire film, it is suggested that Madonna, the Blond Ambition, and Truth or Dare would not have been the same without these men. 

Guess what? As they tell it themselves, they’ve never seen an audition with as many people as the Blond Ambition. If THESE dancers hadn’t been picked, others would have made the cut. Without THESE dancers, Truth Or Dare would have been a movie with OTHER dancers, OTHER gays, OTHER drama - that’s all. I’m sorry to inform you, but THESE dancers are disposable - disposable in the same way Niki Haris and Donna Delory were. I know, I know, some of you are nostalgic and wish Madonna and the girls would perform back together, and bla bla bla *eye roll*, but she replaced them when she decided to - and her shows are still amazing. 

This should not come as a surprise, but Madonna does not depend on her dancers or backup singers or band to put on an impeccable spectacle. There are many, many, many, many, MANY, M-A-N-Y talented dancers, singers, and band members in the world. THERE IS ONLY ONE MADONNA. Do not fall for and, most importantly, do not go around regurgitating the rhetoric that Madonna needed THESE dancers, or those singers, or that director, or this producer at any point in her life. She didn’t. And the fact that she has continuously been successful while timidly and rarely working with the same people over and over is the evidence of that.

How Silly You Are

She was angry with him.

He knew she was angry with him.

The blonde-haried man also recognized that she was crouching in the bushes–however downwind.  He had to abstain from chuckling.

The Marrok had just left his house and was headed to his car.  

What are you planning, Little Coyote?

There was a twinkle in his eyes.  The bush shook too much for it to be just the breeze.

Bran was almost disappointed in the young girl’s mistake.

He stepped closer to his car and was almost overwhelmed with the scent of peanut butter.  He wanted to wince at its potency, but refrained.

She was young.

He swung open the door and, almost immediately, caught sight of the peanut butter smeared across the seat.  He smiled to himself, hiding it by reaching to the center console for the sandwich his little Mercy had placed–no doubt as a decoy to disguise the true reason for why his car reeked of peanut butter.

He took a deep breath in and slowly brought himself to a sitting position, feeling the disgusting, sticky trap under him.  He let the breath out in a growl for show, and just barely caught the movement out of the corner of his eye–the culprit was running away.

Once the streak of grey fur was out of earshot, he stood up and let out a rumbling laugh.

My Little Coyote, how silly you are.

He had just ruined a pair of pants for that girl.

His little Mercy.