Even when you expect the worst, the Grammy Awards show surpasses anything you could possibly imagine. It’s hard to know where to begin with a menu this egregious, but I’ll just jump in with Lady Gaga.

Once I heard she was chosen for a David Bowie tribute, I braced myself. She would turn it into an awful showcase for her androgynous mugging and strut around like a Vegas act for people who vaguely recall Ziggy Stardust. Check, check. But it was so much worse.

Even David Bowie’s son couldn’t contain himself and tweeted in exasperation. Please go away, Lady Gaga. You’ve already tainted poor Tony Bennett, your work was done long ago.

Now for Taylor Swift. Her performance of that awful song with woods and wolves was all about her sparkly unitard and scrawny giraffe-like physique. Her come-hither gazes into the camera were disturbing enough to make my stoic husband recoil. Where is that washed-out fake country girl we used to not love? Can she come back? I am begging.

Then, when Taylor won her award, she began, “As the only woman to win two Album of the year awards…” as though accepting the Nobel Prize for discovering the Time Space Continuum. She went on to urge girls to own their success, evidently a coded message to Kanye West to stop fucking with her. As if!

Kendrick Lamar or Lamar Kendrick performed a gripping rap that made one aware of how corrosive racism is in America and I’m being perfectly serious. He is to Kanye as Richard Pryor is to Kevin Hart. I think. Because I may be too white for any of this.

Demi Lovato sang something very loudly but I like her for her struggles with mental health issues and her great eyebrows.

On the Cute Guy front, we had the always dreamy John Legend, Dave Grohl looking fresh and eager, Miguel and Bruno Mars easily making up for their diminutive stature (or statures plural) with great style. Justin Bieber was also kind of hot, in a clueless rent-boy sort of way.

If like me, you were waiting for Adele to come out and justify the whole torture-fest, you were stunned and baffled nearly to tears. WHAT HAPPENED TO HER PERFECT VOICE?! We cringed at the bad notes, wondering if our last beacon of hope for pop music has suddenly gone dark.

However, it seems that technical difficulties, like a mic falling into the piano, had fucked her up. This makes sense. I am going to accept this explanation and cling to it for dear life. We’re counting on you, Adele. Don’t leave us alone in the wilderness of auto-tuned screeching and jazz hands!

Finally, the debut of Johnny Depp‘s band, the Something Vampires, featuring Joe Perry and Alice Cooper and also Duff Something from Guns And Roses.

I wondered what millennials thought of this stupid throwback attempt at hard rock at it’s most posturing and pointless. Why can’t these guys indulge themselves in their home studios and leave us out of it? For anyone still on-board with Johnny Depp, jump. Even if there’s no lifeboat.

Where is Madonna when you need someone to roll around on a bed or just trip on a cape?

If it gets any worse, I will have to watch the Grammys blindfolded, with earplugs.

Okay. What did I forget?

While the US Congress attempts to hasten the Rapture, I think we should all take time to write some open letters to Miley, Sinead, and all those who have inserted themselves into the melee – Ann Magnuson, Amanda Palmer, Brooke Shields, and Annie Lennox, thus far.

If you’ve been dying to get in on this, here’s your chance!

I will begin:

Dear Miley, I saw you on SNL and I read about you in Rolling Stone. I don’t know why your face is so flat. Also, were you born with a hare lip or not? I don’t care about your body or your tongue, although I wouldn’t mind if you put on a little weight. Also, I’m sorry your father molested you. However, this doesn’t mean you should ridicule poor Sinead for needing mental health services. That was a pretty fucked up move. You could help out by supporting mental health services and working to de-stigmatize mental illness. Otherwise, do whatever you need to do.  Love, Sister Wolf.

Dear Sinead, I love you. I have always loved you. Your shaved head, your brilliant early records, your anti-Catholicism, your boyfriends, your kids, your rebellious emotional frankness, rage on, girl! But don’t expect that bitch Miley to apologize. Mean girls never apologize, ever. Stupid people can’t get enlightened because that’s just how it works. I wish you’d accept my apology on behalf of Miley! Then you could get back to whatever you were doing. Love, Sister Wolf.

Okay, your turn.

I know, you all love Madonna. You love her dance hits, you admire her for ‘reinventing’ herself, maybe even for being a survivor in the fickle world of pop music. And you think she looks GREAT for 50!

God, I hate Madonna. Just like my tattoo says, ma haine dure. I saw a video clip from her recent show and wow, she was a sight to behold. She looked to me like a grandma doing calisthenics. She seemed a little winded as she lip synced into the mic, but who wouldn’t, from all that exercise!

To be fair, I should commend Madonna for being a fit granny, because many grannies just let themselves go. But I see her turning into Mae West right before my eyes, and no one seems to want to mention this.

Here’s an offer: I will put on a track suit and jump around while lip syncing the song of your choice, for only $19.99. If you call now, I will throw in some weight-lifting tips, too. I guarantee that I’ll look younger than Madge, if not quite as muscular. I’ll even put on a fake English accent!