A Crazy in Love

One of my biggest regrets in life is that I wasn't born the playboy son of a possibly crazy, certainly eccentric, but always interesting sunglasses-loving dictator / beloved leader of an oil rich North African country. It isn't my biggest regret - that prize belongs to the time I was this close to achieving level 15 Cleric (a.k.a Ladymagnet) in an extended game of D & D that began when I was eleven and ended when I started shaving, but it's a close second.

If I had been the son of a self-titled King of Forever and Master of Your Every Breath, I might have been named Titus, or Gaius, or Diophantus; basically any name of a classical commander would do, the effect being to throw into sharp relief the extent to which my louche and wanton lifestyle rendered me a flabby milquetoast with a fat wallet. Oh yes. I went there.

And had I been born Titgaphantus, I could have thrown a super big party this New Year for all my rent-a-friends, and this QUEEN would have been the headline act. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I want Ms. Beyoncé-Z, nee Knowles, to play a private gig for me.

I don't know why I like Beyoncé so much. It may have something to do with the fact that her songs rock so hard that I break into a contact dance-sweat from merely imagining an opening bar. And something to with the fact that she is foxy as a foxilicious foxaholic doing the foxtrot in foxytown. But also, I have the no doubt proto-stalkerish impression that we could be besties. She would be like, `Greedy, let's you and me hit the town and grab some drinks. That backup dancer is working on my last nerve, and I need to kick back and get my crunk on.' And I'd be like, 'Mmmm girl, you know it', and I'd teach her to do gin shots without crying, and she'd teach me to gyrate my behind like an electric fan, and her bouncer would hold me down when Single Ladies comes on so I don't drunkenly drop-it-like-it's-hot in front of two hundred people and spend the rest of the month wearing the hot flush of a shameover that will not die. Not that that ever happened, and yeah, before you ask, obviously Photoshopped. Shut-up.

So, this New Year, Beyoncé, appearing live at my place. After the stage, sound equipment, dancers, costume rails, dressing room and lighting rig have all been squeezed in, I reckon I can invite just one friend. First come, first serve, and let's go dutch on the $2million appearance fee, mkay? Also, you bring the 'Juicy Baked Chicken: Legs, Wings & Breast only, with fresh garlic, season salt, black pepper, and Cayenne pepper HEAVILY SEASONED!!' and I'll bring the gin.

Finally, here is her latest video which is perfection.