I think I'm speaking for a lot of 50-something women here when I say that Madonna had no business at the Super Bowl.
There she was, all Miss High and Mighty, dressed like Cleo-friggin-patra, surrounded by a plethora of gay men in all shapes, sizes and colors.
Oh, and Celo Green.
What was she trying to prove? What was the NFL thinking?
I'd rather see Pat Boone in leopard skin.
Did you see her at the Golden Globes when she didn't win for W.E. standing there all snooty and entitled, with puckered biceps that looked like Jaws had got to them? Her, with that fake English accent?
My, you've come a long way, Ms. Ciccone, since Susan was Desperately Seeking You in downtown 'Troit.
Who could forget the old days with your lace gloves and hair frizz?
Takes me back, alrighty.
Now your claim to fame is being friends with Demi Moore while making terrible English bedroom dramas that even Elton John hates.
Wait! You got to play the Super Bowl!
Women over 50 have no business gyrating with 24-year-olds on stage. Well, there are exceptions.
Tina Turner is an exception. Bette Midler is an exception.
Neither of them are trying to look 25. They are hot and sassy mature women whom I would love to emulate.
Madonna was just embarrassing up there, nearly falling off the stage, with her fake ringlets, trying to be Lady Gaga. Frankly, I thought she was just Ga-ga.
She wasn't even singing the words, for Christ's sake.
When I watch the Super Bowl, I want to see dudes, not menopausal cheerleaders.
Last year, they had Springsteen and he was awesome. The year before it was Petty.
Okay, if you want a chick, pick Beyonce or Aguilerra (assuming, of course, Christina remembers her tampons). Or what about the beautiful and wonderous Carrie Underwood?
Instead you gave us a geriatric toddler in a tiara.
The NFL needs to do a visioning exercise and imagine the half-time show as great, not lame.
The league, and Tom Brady's quarterbacking skills, disgust me.