Lady Gaga: My Bad Romance With A Homeless Brit Vagrant


Gaga (pictured centre) takes a break from rehearsals with members of her dance troupe.

The showbiz world was stunned last night as eccentric pop princess, Lady Gaga, revealed to the press that on her last tour of the UK she conducted a tawdry love affair with a 67 year old homeless, alcoholic she’d met outside the O2 Arena following last year’s barnstorming, sellout gig.
The diva left reporters open-mouthed as she recounted her tale of feckless wandering with a “gentleman of the road” in January of last year.
Gaga told assembled media “I was just leaving the O2 with a few of my entourage when I noticed what appeared to be a bundle of rags heaped against the wall. I saw what I thought was movement and went over to investigate. Before I had a chance to slip on my Hause Of Gaga, PVC particle mask, a grizzled face emerged and I heard his sweet voice for the first time asking if I had any change and calling me his best mate.”
“As he climbed slowly to his feet, staggering slightly and clinging onto my shoulder for support, I noticed for the first time his ill fitting fetid trousers, stained with over a weeks worth of bodily secretions, his colourful facial bruises and the tiny flecks of sick in his rancid beard. Despite myself I moved closer and drank in the sweet alluring scent of stale Tennants Super on his breath and the heady aroma of dried piss that seemed to ooze from every fibre of his being. In that one life changing moment I was totally smitten and knew that come hell or high water I would have to make him mine”.
“The next few weeks were a heady, evil smelling blur as we spent every waking moment together, visiting bits of waste ground right across the country, sitting round burning sofas eating shoe polish and muttering to ourselves. We were half crazed with love and Lady Esquire Shoe Reconditioner. I can quite honestly say they were the happiest days I have ever known and that my personal hygiene descended to an all time low in his arms.
“He taught me so many new and wonderful things during our blissful time together. He showed me how to wander unsteadily round shopping precincts swilling from a 3 litre bottle of pikey cider. How to roar in people’s faces and the art of defecating into my trousers whilst carrying on a conversation with the police. He opened the door to tramp couture and demonstrated the best knots to use when tying the bit of string holding up my trousers. He instructed me in how to look poised and elegant as I staggered about all over the shop, carrying my entire worldly possessions in 8 carrier bags, and the art of partially slicing through the toecaps on my shoes so that they flapped about a bit when I walked along. He also taught me how to make the air around me so rancid and foetid that I’d end up having entire train carriages to myself and also the best equipped and warmest public libraries to go to if I needed to cram newspapers down the legs of my trousers. He  even showed me how to have a fight with myself in a pool of sick in front of schoolchildren and their mothers. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble”
“Then came the terrible news that turned my entire world upside down. I was lying semi comatose in a train on the Circle Line at 4am when another hopeless stumblebum got on at Monument and told me that my beloved had been knocked down and killed by a black cab as he stood in the middle of the road shouting at traffic that were driving too close to his dog on a bit of string”.
“I spent the next few months in rehab, drying out and restricting myself to the odd fag butt I’d found squashed on the floor in one of the traps in the lady’s bogs. Sometimes I’d seek comfort by having an occasional sip of brake cleaner before getting my head down for the night in a piss soaked sleeping bag.”
“I feel as if I’m over the worst now and have resumed my former life of making  appallingly bad records and poncing about on the stage with my Jack and Danny and tits hanging out”.
“It may have been a bad romance, but for me it will always be the most beautiful and tender episode of my life and no matter what people say, I’ll always have the memory of him, the rancid stench of his shitted up keks and those tender words he’d often whisper so softly in my ear as we walked home to our cardboard box under the Hammersmith Flyover ….”Yer me best fuckin’ mate yoush are! Yah fuckin’ bashta yersh! Yer FUUUUUUUUUCK!
Lady Gaga has requested that all proceeds from this interview be donated to The Nomadic Methylated Spirits Trust “Drinking Metal Polish Since 1895”
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2 Comments

Filed under Comedy, Humor, Humour, Satire, Showbiz

2 responses to “Lady Gaga: My Bad Romance With A Homeless Brit Vagrant

  1. No I dont know why the tagline duplicated “comedy” and “humour” either folks 🙂

    Like

  2. On a day when my skull is as empty as a seashell awaiting the next hermit crab to arrive I didn’t need you to post this. In short it is too f**king good!

    Like

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