A Little Scare

Madonna made me drink me too much on the Fourth of July.

I went to a barbecue in Brooklyn perfectly ready to sip soda, gnaw on some chips, and make pleasant conversation.

I had been out late the night before with my Bay Ridge Meet-Up Group and I wanted to keep things light on the Fourth.

But then Madonna Kabbalahed me into drinking too much Prosecco and I promptly passed out on the couch.

I don't begin to know how she did it, but I figure if the Material Girl can use the Kabbalah to make Alex Rodriguez cheat on his wife, I'm convinced she had something to do with me getting loaded yesterday.

"I feel like Madonna’s using mind control over him. I don’t recognize the man he’s become," Cynthia Rodriguez supposedly told friends, according to The Telegraph. "He was a sweet, beautiful, loving husband and father. Today he’s very cold and calculating."

Of course he is. And it's all Madonna's fault. Just like me and the barbecue.

I mean, hell, what am I supposed to do--take responsibility for my own actions? Accept the fact that I, and I alone, was responsible for guzzling too much of that sparkling Italian wine?

No freaking way--this was Madonna's fault. Just like it wasn't Alex Rodriguez's fault that he (allegedly) cheated on his wife. The man just couldn't help himself. And neither could I.

You remember that "Vogue" video? Christ, you could hypnotize people into buying aluminum siding with all those swirling arms.

I want to mention right here and now that I didn't do anything outrageous at the barbecue. I just failed to remain conscious for a certain period of time. I don't know how long, of course, as I was not conscious.

But I didn't start any brawls, insult anyone's wife, drop my pants, or spit on the rug. I didn't torture the cats, harass the dog or frighten the neighbors.

When I found myself nodding off--goddamn Madonna!--I excused myself, went to the living room and konked out.

"The perfect guest!" my aunt exclaimed in horror when I told her this morning.

Well, maybe not perfect, but at least I'm not putting the Kabbalah kibosh on anyone's marriage.

And, as I think of it, I had planned to stay for only one drink on Thursday night and come home early.

The next thing I remember I was staggering into the men's room of the Salty Dog somewhere around 1:30am--Kabbalah!--and declaring to absolutely no one "so much for one drink!"

Maybe Madonna had something to do with that, too. She might have a long-distance Kabbalah plan that allows to her to put the whammy on somebody in America on nights and weekends. This woman is truly evil.

She's one of the few surviving Eighties acts. You think that's an accident? Think again. Remember her and Sean Penn, back in the days of Shanghai Surprise,when the Daily News dubbed them "Most Hated Couple on the Planet"?

Talk about cold and calculating. There had to be some kind of funky business going on there.

When I turned 39...a while ago...this flamboyantly gay co-worker of mine called me at the office.

"Soooo," he said, "you're as old as Madonna."

Something about that phrase really creeped me out. What's worse is that I think I'm a little older. And the fact that I keep aging probably has something to do with the Kabbalah.

I'm so glad I read this item in the papers. Now I know the source of all my problems. I'm late for work, I lose my temper, I knock over a little old lady while trying to catch the subway--it's the curse of the Madonna Kabbalah.

I can't wait until April 15th when the IRS comes calling and I just throw up my hands and say, "Kabbalah!"

Now they might say "Leavenworth!" in response, but maybe I can get Madonna to do the K-job on the judge and skip out of court a free man.

I'd like to write more about this but I have this urge to stuff my face with all sorts of unhealthy food and drink.

Madonna, cut that out!