Transport Minister John Baird named his cat "Thatcher" (ugh). The cat died. Baird texted his friends. And then the Canadian government began preparing a statement on the passing of former British PM Margaret Thatcher. Once they actually called Downing Street, though, they learned that Maggie was alive and healthy (Thatcher just recently received a fresh batch of the coal miner blood that she feasts on, you see).

Whoops! Silly Canadian government, when Margaret Thatcher actually dies, you'll know it from the audible drunken cheers you'll hear from across the Atlantic.

Fade in. Ms. Gaga, ever the generous host, is just chilling with her minions, listening to music.

She is wearing her razor-blade sunglasses, because a girl can never be too careful. The world assaults us with images! We must fight back! (Or, as she told MTV News: "I wanted to design a pair for some of the toughest chicks and some of my girlfriends - don't do this at home! - they used to keep razor blades in the side of their mouths… That tough female spirit is something that I want to project. It's meant to be, 'This is my shield, this is my weapon, this is my inner sense of fame, this is my monster.") I certainly hope you're taking notes.

FYI: Motherboard, barbed wire or fine screen door mesh manicures are the new hot shit. Adjust accordingly.

Suddenly, there's a flash of light.

A room! With Ukranian vodka! This must be a dream. Or a nightmare?

Coffin-like pods line the floor. Note the one which reads "Monster," as therein lies our heroine.

By the way: Since The Lady refers to her creative team as the Haus of Gaga, this scenario, naturally, takes place in the Bath Haus of Gaga.

The Lady emerges, wrapped up for freshness.

It's important to loosen up the joints and muscles after being transported — nay, kidnapped — into a questionable dimension. Working out with friends keeps you motivated.

Speeding through a hole in the time/space continuum often leaves a layer of grime. Bathing is a must.

Here, her eyes are wide with knowledge, not fear: She is a captive!

Product placement! Did you know that Dr. Dre, who has his own Beats By Dre headphones, worked with The Lady to make Heartbeats by Lady Gaga?

Back to the story: Gaga is ripped from the bath by her captors.

She is really just an innocent young thing, what could they possibly want with her?

Well, first they'd like to strip her of her latex garments…

…Then they'd like to force imported vodka down her throat. The usual Tuesday night stuff.

Fueled by liquor, Gaga is trussed up in a sparkly ensemble, robbed of her Burberry overcoat and forced to dance.

So many male bidders, so little time!

The Man With The Gold Chin Strap takes an interest in Ms. Gaga. Gold+Man= Goldman? As in Goldman Sachs? Is Gaga part of the bailout package?

Her brain aches; she must make a choice. She can flee. Sure. But she can also stay and dance her ass off, use this man the way he wants to use her. She could really, really use the money, you see…

…She's got a little problem with her spine. And Oxford won't cover the surgery.

So she dances. She seduces him because she has to. And because she can.

According to The Woman's Dictionary Of Symbols & Sacred Objects, the bond between cats and women has always been strong. There was a time that the patriarchy, suspicious of this connection, would accuse any woman seen talking to or petting a cat of witchcraft. Cats were sacred to the Ancient Egyptians, and festivals for the the cat goddess Bast were huge. The Norse goddess Freya rode in a chariot drawn by cats, and felines were generally thought to be magic. So save your shaved pussy jokes until the end.

Oooh, looky! Our favorite ankle-snapping Alexander McQueen shoes from his Spring 2010 show in paris. You know, the Futuristic Interplanetary Mutant Alien Queen one. Not Derelicte In Wonderland… that's so Fall 2009.

If you saw the McQueen ensembles and thought to yourself, "Who wears that? Now you know.

Anyway: Gaga drags herself and her bear carcass peignoir to do what she knows she must do.

Mr. Goldman awaits, hand creeping toward his stimulus package.

He'd like to see what he's purchased.

She's happy to oblige.

But! Little does he know — she has power, strength, and can, like a young Drew Barrymore, start fires with her mind.

(See, she has already informed the others that there will be a revolt! That's where the red and the leather come in: Viva La Revolucion!)

Yes, the bed is aflame. Fire can be symbolic of passion, but in this case, she is using it as a weapon, to destroy her enemy.

In the end, her sparkbra is saved, but Mr. Goldman? He is merely a charred skeleton.

The moral: Buy flame-retardant lingerie.

Here's the video clip, sans commentary. Enjoy.

Lady Gaga Says 'Bad Romance' Video Is About 'Tough Female Spirit' [MTV News]
Bad Romance Exclusive Premiere [Facebook]
Lady Gaga Bad Romance [YouTube]

Earlier: Questions About The High Fashion & Domestic Violence In Lady GaGa's Video
An Analysis Of The Underlying Themes In Britney's New Candie's Commerical

The Washington Post's violent Style section uncovers the catragic case of Hoity, done in by the do-gooding of PETA interns repeatedly knocking on Netzer's door and telling her that keeping her cat outside was dangerous:

For six months, Netzer tried to keep Hoity inside, but he began clawing the furniture, "pooping all over things," and going, as far as Netzer could tell, completely insane. When she would put him out again, some or another intern would stop by again, implying, she says, that Hoity might be happier and safer in a shelter. Afraid that the PETA interns would take her cat, she eventually had him put to sleep.

A PETA spokesman says that the interns had seen the cat "have close calls" with cars in the neighborhood.

Purr-nicious!
[Pic via]

• Oogh. Lindsay Lohan has reportedly (1) been dropped by her record label, (2) been working for French fashion label Ungaro for free, even going so far as to cover her own expenses on her trip to Paris for their show, and (3) has had a camera crew following her around for what appears to be a reality TV show that her PR rep declined to comment on. She also "scooped up" $100,000 in threads from Ungaro while she was working with them, so, you know, at least she got something out of it. But those new lips ain't gonna pay for themselves, sister. In fact, those lips are beginning to look more and more like the sub-prime mortgage of plastic surgery; she's gonna be paying for those things until they get foreclosed on. I have no idea what that means. Anyway: when Michael Lohan begins to look even remotely sensible in any context, you're doing something wrong. Stop doing wrong things. Stop fucking up, Lindsay. You losing your BlackBerry in a bodega is enjoyable gossip. This is not enjoyable gossip. This is Sunday. Don't make us deal with this shit on a Sunday. [Page Six]
  
  
• Brad Pitt ran his motorcycle into a parked car. I'm pretty sure there was a decent "Yo mama" joke about this back in the day, but it's just not as funny when Brad Pitt does it, right? Also, the Daily News uses the old "but he's gonna be fine, ladies" as if they assume their readership of items about Brad Pitt injuring himself is either a majority of or limited to women. Wrong, New York Daily News. So I'll do it for them: Ladies and Men Who Wish Brad Pitt Were Gay As The Day, he's gonna be fine. [NYDN]
  
  
• The Rock, or The Cock? Har har, but no, seriously, Dwayne Johnson sounds like a real asshole. Story: a security guard approaches Dwayne Johnson on a rooftop while he's filming a movie with Mark Wahlberg, Will Ferrell and Samuel L. Jackson. The guard asks The Rock for an autograph for his son, a huge fan, and The Rock shuts him down, saying that he can't give an autograph to everyone who asks. Which is when the security guard grabbed the nearest chair, bashed it over The Rock's head, put him in a figure-four leg-lock, and had his kid dropped from a helicopter onto The Cock's head with one elbow down. I wish. No, instead, he sulked off, saying something about his kid not being a fan anymore, and then The Cock gave him his patented death stare or whatever. Do you smell what The Cock is cooking? Yes, that's correct: horseshit. [Page Six]
  
  
• Speaking of cock, they're turning Cocktail into a musical, and Katie Holmes might be cast in it. Meanwhile, Tom Cruise is probably gay. Just sayin'. [Page Six]
  
  
• And apparently, he'd appreciate the humor of Margaret Cho, who makes gay people laugh. Page Six: the anthropologists of our time. [Page Six]
  
  
• Sienna Miller — currently on Broadway right now doing fairly well — is "bunking" with platonic friends in Nolita right now. Apparently, there're a bunch of celebrities in the building, and she's just added onto their crazy stats. Also, she forced the New York Times to correct a story about her previous boyfriends, but who hasn't forced the New York Times to correct a story about their previous boyfriends? Exactly. [Page Six]
  
  
• Hello, Broadway Geighs! Jonathan Groff of Spring Awakening fame is probably dating Gavin Creel of Hair fame. If you have any idea who the people I'm talking about are, you probably watch Glee. Maybe too much Glee. [Page Six]
  
  
• Roman Polanski candidly discussed his culpability in his situation with Esquire magazine, of all places. Thanks, Roman, for not hitting us up first. Seriously. [Page Six]
  
  
• It's rare that I feel terribly for Courtney Love, but in this instance, it's hard not to: apparently, she was chased out of LA by her former "handlers" who essentially bugged her every move and tried to extort her nine ways to Tuesday. So: she moved to New York, and is trying to sue the life out of them. Where's Francis Bean in all of this? [NYDN]
  
  
• Signs that Rev. Al Sharpton is getting old and going senile: he gave Joe Jackson an award. For what? Infamously inflicting irreversible damage on his kids? Asshole. [NYDN]
  
  
• No fun here: Andrew Lloyd Weber has prostate cancer. Cats still sucks, however. [NYDN]
  
  
• Bill Maher's in love with his girlfriend, and might marry her. Which is a change of pace for him. [NYDN]
  
  
• Shakira's in Freudian psychotherapy for some kind of oral fixation. The rest of America is fixated on her ass, etc, etc. She's also having a kid and getting ready for it. [NYDN]
  
  
• Morrissey went to the hospital after collapsing onstage and was discharged shorty thereafter; he was having "breathing difficulties." If every day is like Sunday, or at least, Sundays like these, it must really, really suck to be Morrissey. [Sky News]

On that note! Many days are like Sunday! But not all of them. This one, though, definitely.

[Image via Eliot Press/Bauer-Griffin]

More or less. She performed "Memory" from Cats. Anything from Cats, even as a theater guy, I find particularly creepy, but the Brits absolutely love that show, and they love Susan Boyle. Match made in heaven. Again: don't get it.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

Anyway: she went with a crowdpleaser, it was cunningly smart. The thing starts out slightly underwhelming, but Boyle manages to pull the last strong, heavy notes out of the song to rile up the crowd. Whether or not we're under a placebo effect with Boyle, it doesn't matter: even Simon Cowell admitted to being made to feel stupid and terrible by the way he regarded her before she sang for the first time on the show. At this point, she could cover Sid Vicious covering Sinatra's "My Way," and we'd be there with a YouTube embed, ready to lap it up. And that's kind of okay. Susan Boyle's one of the few things keeping us all sincere.

What I mean by that is: if you don't like Susan Boyle, you can go die. This bitch's on wheels, and kiss, no kiss, nothing's getting in her path to the top. Nothing.

See, Nancy Pelosi posted a weird video of cats in her House office, and "analysts say" (that is the hilariously vague formulation the Telegraph uses) Pelosi broke YouTube, or something.

Here is more wonderful journalism-talk, from the headline:

YouTube, the internet hosting site, is being flooded with cringe worthy video messages from US politicians, it has been claimed.

The Telegraph doesn't really understand how the internet works, it has been claimed.

But seriously, we agree with them 100%. Nancy Pelosi needs to get off the YouTubes right away, before her clowning around takes away any more server space and precious attention from important videos like this:

(Congressional YouTube videos are really the worst thing, but you know so is YouTube, basically, except for this.)

This news comes to us from the far-away land of England, and from the far-away time of last week, which does not make it any less newsworthy from a catvertising perspective:

Warner Bros has revealed that it plans to advertise its forthcoming shooter, F.E.A.R. 2: Project Origin, via a clowder of black cats around London on the game's launch day on Friday 13.

Shamelessly branded a ‘cat-vertising campaign', the scheme will see the specially trained black moggies sporting F.E.A.R. 2 cat clothing, and then roaming the streets of London.

Ha! And below we have two more photographs [via Electric Pig] of these black-clad beasts, who doubtless are still roaming the streets of London, never to be captured by their owners again. You cannot train cats and that's all there is to it! Catvertising is awesome.

[via Adrants]

This is what your congress is up to, fyi. Cat-vlogging and RickRolling.

Socks the Cat, the most adorable White House pet since Hoover's German Shepard, was kicked to the curb after the Clintons left the White House. He was foisted on poor Betty Currie, Clinton's secretary.

Now, here is the good news: Socks is back in political favor! Obama's transition co-chairman is John Podesta, and Podesta just hired Currie to be his secretary!

But here is the bad news: Socks has cancer. He's 19! That is very old, for a cat. At least he outlived his mortal enemy, Buddy the Dog.

The Soup picked it up as well, rendering even Joel McHale's incredulity unusually authentic. Frankly, we're still confused — but that doesn't mean the idea can't work. Follow the jump for Defamer's own customized "Bleep Photos," culled from both our deep in-house archive and the obscure wilds of the Web. We like cats and pasta and everything just fine, but face it: If you know you're good, then you know you can be better.

• The Soup [via FishBowl LA]

So! Keith Gessen! If you would like to start living a more admirable life right now, please email us to set up a date with Sammy. Like we said, Sammy loves people and is very friendly. She is kind of scared of other kitties, especially boys, but that could change with time and love!

(If Keith doesn't want the kitty, anyone else is welcome to pick her up! She needs a loving home, as she is not as street-smart as the other kittens of Bed-Stuy.)

Photos: Allyzay

See, nobody watches commercials any more, so now companies are making their own entire shows. It's a throwback to the days of the "Toastie Postie Cereal Morning Variety Hour and Talent Competition," and whatnot. The Times looks at two current examples of this exasperating phenomenon: a Dos Equis beer reality show tied to its ad campaign, and the aforementioned Meow Mix Game Show, which is a sure hit among people who just can't get enough Meow Mix information:

The sole commercials during the game show will be from Meow Mix, Mr. Tuza of Del Monte Brands said, but rather than sell the product, they are meant to "educate you on how to be a better pet parent and how to better understand your cat."

You can find audition info for the show here. The ad industry is using your cats against you, urban sophisticates!

[NYT]

"They are telling folks that they are trying to adopt these animals out, but that is patently not true," said Patrick Kwan, New York state director of the Humane Society of the United States.

"These animals cannot be adopted out. This is an extermination program that sentences them to death."

Since the cats are feral, you're not allowed to adopt them from the shelter.

But you could try boycotting major JFK customers like, say, JetBlue, for not trying to exert more pressure on the port. It's not like that airline, in particular, is particularly humane to humans at that airport, either.

[am New York]

Lookit the kitty!