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As a man drove down the street,
his date said to him,
"Did you know I was a witch?"
"Really?"
"Yes. With a few words,
I can transform objects into other things."
"Do it."
So she whispered something provocative into his ear
and the man's car turned into a motel.
- old joke
What about today's Madonna? She is becoming a serious movie actress, a powerful force in the music industry... and a witch. Not an evil witch, mind you. Madonna is transforming herself into one of those benevolent occult gypsy witches who could read your palm and suck your staff with eqaul aplomb. Considering I'm an old Tarot card reader myself (I quit because I was getting too good at it and started to scare the crap out of myself), I find this to be additionally appealing. She is already a nomadic traveler, a jet-set bohemian fascinated by arcane cultures. Her knowledge of the supernatural is evident through the accessories to her attire and the East Indian markings she wears. It wouldn't surprise me at all if she knew how to create love potions... even though she would have no use for them herself.
Is she a good witch? Oh, yes. A very good witch, indeed. If I were her agent, I would recommend her using it in her movie career. How? Have her remake the old film Bell, Book & Candle with her in the witchy female lead. It contains comedy, music and sex, all which could adapted to fit Madonna's personality. Naturally, I would include some nudity but temper it with self-deprecating humor. (The idea that she will eventually "delightfully wrinkle" like the older witches doesn't thrill her.) The updates I would make? (1) The publisher figures out a way to break the curse on the writer's manuscript. (2.) In the finale, the publisher tells her that he fell in love with her as she completely was, witchy powers and all. He then sprinkles them both with a powder as they kiss. Her feet levitate out of her shoes as she regains her magical abilities while retaining love. Not only does she remain a liberated woman... but it allows for sequels about a penthouse living, cauldron stirring sexpot who isn't afraid of deflating New York City hypocrites.
Of course, that will never happen. Mostly because it is my idea and my ideas never work. Know the feeling? Thought so.
So ends this diatribe. I will continue to pine away for Madonna's lascivious figure, dreaming of the shockingly lewd obscenities our sweaty physiques could do together... but never will. Of course, considering my rounded exterior compared to her lithesome one, I could croak during the encounter. Then I'd be the guy with the eternal smirk in the pine box next to hors d'oeuvre tray. Talk about unsafe sex...