2007-06-20 - 10:25 a.m.
gaygaygaygaygay.
I have been thoroughly entertained.
For every reason in existence as to why Kylie Minogue eats Madonna for breakfast (and these are tall words, considering the fact that "Into the Groove" was one of the first songs I remember being obsessed with) watch this. Watch concert clip 8, "Red Blooded Woman/Show."
After about three minutes of a young bald-headed man flipping around stage, tearing off clothing, whipping the frost-tipped haired gay men of Sydney, Australia into a goddamn demon frenzy, and dramatically flipping into a pit, groups of gay dancers rise from the subterranean depths of Australia on platforms made to look like group showers. Lesson learned? You sacrifice a beautiful gay virgin to Kylie's pit, She will give back a bounty. A cob for a harvest, I tell you.
Whilst rubbing themselves down with stage water, White V's emblazoned on their both ass and crotch, Kylie rises up out of the floor on a male gymnast's vault in the most amazing get-up: a cheetah pattern body sock, complete with ears, and two gigantic red boxing gloves with the letters "K" and "M" embedded and bedazzled onto the gloves in rhinestones. Fuck. Why don't I own this already?
She coos and lays around on the vault, the underwear clad men holding the microphone for her, the remainder of the men jumping around in mid-tempo calisthenics. Have we already forgotten how brilliant this pop song is? Let us not ever forget again.
Just when the song heats up, the gayharvest falls into a heap on the vault as Kylie breaks into her little known gem, her murder ballad duet with Nick Cave "Where the Wild Roses Grow." All 19th Century English ballady and shit. While looking like a glamour cheetah. Thomas Hardy is breaking into a post-mortum cold sweat just thinking about it.
Expectedly, they break back into Ibiza ready dancepop, all jumps, pumps, sweat, and crotch rubbing. Kylie prowls like a genuine feline and demands the boys do a gigantic push-up as "Slow" kicks in. Gay shrieking. I am unexpectedly even more sold into the entire Minogue experience, as if there was any other option available. As if any of us were immune from this kind of glorious disease--no one is safe, for sure.
