Lady Gaga meets Judas Priest. FAR better than you’d expect, I promise.
I TOLD you! Now, here are your rushed-for-time celebrity gossip links for a Friday night:
Category Archives: 80’s
Imagine
John Lennon
Thirty years ago today, The Sister walked into my room in Carleton Place, Ontario and said, “Wake up. Grandpa and John Lennon are both dead.”
Really, every morning since then has been a snap, relatively speaking.
Mylene Farmer: Que Mon Coeur Lâche
We haven’t had a good Youtube in quite some time (days), nor a good Mylene Farmer youtube in even longer, so here’s a nice little AIDs allegorical one (which should, incidentally, put me back on the top of the WP.com Allegory tag page) called Que Mon Coeur Lâche, and which dates from the days in which she was young and pretty and had unfortunate haircuts, ie 1992, as you will see:
And, incidentally, if this doesn’t get me back on the Michael Jackson Haterfan Juggernaut, nothing will.
French:
Bien trop brutal
L’amalgame
La dance des corps
L’amour à mort
Amour poison
Collision
La peur s’abat
Sur nos ébats
Toi entre nous
Caoutchouc
Tu t’insinues
Dans nos amours
C’est pas facile
Le plaisir
Apprivoiser
Ton corps glacé
Quel mauvais ange
Se dérange
Pour crucifier
Mes libertés
Moi pauvre diable
J’ai si mal
Vertige d’amour,
amour blessé
Que mon coeur lâche
Mes rêves
d’amours excentriques
N’ont plus leur strass
Mon stress
d’amour est si triste
Que mon coeur lâche
Mais fais-moi mal
Abuse des liens et des lys
Les temps sont lâches
L’amour a mal
Les temps sont amour plastique
Estelle, Rennes, France
English:
QUE MON COEUR LACHE (MY HEART GIVES UP)
Translation by Paradox
[Some parts of ‘Que mon coeur lache’ are missing in the english version ‘My soul is slashed’, so …]
Too much brutal
the mixing
the dance of bodies
the death of love
poisonous love
collision
the fear beats down
on our frolic
You between us
rubber
you seep into
our intercourse
It’s not easy
the pleasure
to tame your iced body
My heart gives up
my dreams of kinky love
do not have paste anymore
my stress about love
is so sad
My heart gives up
please harm me
misuse of bonds and lilies
times are loose
love is in pain
times are plastic love
what nasty angel
came up to crucify my liberties
Me, poor devil
It hurts so much
love fever, hurt love
Michael Jackson cause of death
When he died, Michael Jackson left the world confused, frightened, broken. And so was the world. We looked for answers, and now at last the ol’ raincoaster blog can reveal just what happened. Yes, we are about to tell you exactly how Michael Jackson died.
(stolen/adapted from Popbitch)
Farrah Fawcett died the same day as MJ, a few hours sooner. She reached the Pearly Gates and God was there to meet her, excitedly shoving a long-suffering St Peter out of the way to shake the hand of the blonde bombshell.
“Hi Farrah, I’m God! I’m your biggest fan!” he said, excitedly.
“Gosh, God, that’s terrific. I love my fans. Here, let me sign your toga…” she replied, whipping out a fountain pen. God giggled.
“Farrah, I’m never going to wash this toga again! You’ve made me so happy, I’d like to grant you a wish. Anything you want, just tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
“Gee, God, I guess I’d like for all the little children of the world to be safe.”
And WHAM! Just like that Michael Jackson died.
Michael Jackson Stopped, Got Enough
Michael Jackson, the self-crowned King of Pop, is dead at the age of 50. Born an adorable, talented black boy, he died (apparently of heart failure, insert own bitter joke here) a bizarre creature somewhere between the aliens from Communion and Zombie Janice Dickinson, with a soupcon of pederasty for (as the kids say) flava. Alternately short of Money or Invincible, Black or White, Smooth Criminal or The Man, he remained a protean figure of scandal-scented mystery to his last days.
It’s just Human Nature to pursue a Pretty Young Thing, although his Monkey Business recreational tastes and pursuits brought him to the attention of the law on a regular basis. When finally confronted with the rap, he Beat It, claiming he and the boys were Just Good Friends who would Come Together in friendship. Known over the decades as a libel lawyer’s best patron (What More Can He Give?) when he felt Threatened, the eccentric musician had seemed in recent years to have turned around his notoriously aberrant behavior, although more cynical minds (like mine) figured that instead of pursuing free-range children, he’d just decided to grow his own: Blanket, Prince Michael, and Paris. Ah, the Lost Children.
I hope that, once his no-doubt vainglorious tomb is complete and he installed within it, Banksy can come up with something suitably memorable, although it’s hard to top that portrait. HIStory will judge him. Until that time, we have this, by DryHumourSteve:
His bones will given to the relatives of Joseph Carey Merrick
raincoaster 