Stop Making Fun of Beyonce

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Who run the world?

Me? Girls?

Don’t lie – you know the answer.

Beyonce does.

I realize the Superbowl was about a month ago, but all the stupid flack Beyonce was getting, or has ever gotten for her bombastic fierceness, still has my panties in a bunch. And just like Queen Bey herself, these issues are timeless. So, I will now  passionately address them.  You’ve been forewarned because hell hath no fury when you attack a diva’s favorite diva.

Now, as the credible college journalist I am, I find it important to keep my integrity by providing my loyal readers with the utmost disclosure.

Many will think this article will be skewed in favor of Ms. Knowles because I might be a little biased.

And that is wrong.

I am a lot biased.

I am a music maven who works in the industry, but there is no hiding the fact that 90% of my collection  is composed of her discography. And THAT’S FINE.

Second to my stubborn, sassy Italian mother, Beyonce is who  taught me how to be a woman. I know the importance of a man who can pay my automo’ bills, but I also see the value in being a woman who can buy her own diamonds and buy her own rings. Speaking of extravagant jewelry, I won’t wait for a man who can’t put a ring on it, but I will love the man who can till the End of Time, because 1+1 equals 2.

She’s also made me infinitely clever, as you can already tell.

Football fan or not, you know you were looking forward to the hotly anticipated half-time show on February 3. The “Countdown to Touchdown” advertisements caused us all a lot of anxiety, and caused me what I’d imagine was  an asthma attack (I don’t even have asthma, but  there’s gotta be a reason I couldn’t breathe every time I saw a commercial).

This year’s Superbowl, unlike years past, came with a full-ledged concert instead of an accompanying song and dance or few planned wardrobe malfunctions. The only thing that could have made this night better was if my concert wasn’t so rudely interrupted with grunting quarterbacks and homoerotic tackles.

The woman was given the entire duration of the show to herself, dominating the most popular American sporting event. Women and children might not care for the four quarters of pigskin, but EVERYONE loves a good half-time show, where Beyonce had the unconditional attention of millions of viewers and the equally unconditional sponsorship of Pepsi Co. Do you have a Pepsi sponsorship? I didn’t think so.

Unanimous verdict: She killed it.

I think it’d be FOOLISH for the NFL to even continue this tradition of a half-time show after that EARTH-RATTLING spectacle of entertainment.  The blood, sweat and tears that woman puts in to every song and every piece of choreography was littering the stage in the most fabulous of ways. You probably experienced the performance with other bodily fluids too, but that’s  your secret. (although, you can totally share. We’re not judging. How can you help yourself?)

She gave in to our every need. She sang the old, she reveled in the new, she gave us the Destiny’s Child reunion we’ve waited for. Her outfits were unreal, the production was dazzling, the energy could be felt through even the crappiest of TV monitors.

But people really do throw rocks at irreplaceable things that shine and light up the entire world, apparently, because within 24 hours of this event, several of the Internet’s derpiest websites, chock-filled with fake editorial content, started pointing fingers and wisecracking punch lines at Beyonce’s vigorous performance.

That stupid collection  of poorly captured screenshots of Beyonce’s mid-show facial expressions are a really futile attempt at trying to make fun of the basically untouchable global superstar. They’re a reflection of how this woman doesn’t mess around, unlike most contemporary songstresses, like Justin Bieber, who pukes milk on stage when he dougies too hard.

Those individual photos might have scored your article a few digital thumbs up and cheap laughs, but at the end of the day, they can still be strung together and put  into motion to become the greatest Superbowl Half-time Show ever. So, nice try, Buzzfeed.

I mean it.  Let me point out a few of my favorite highlights from your invigorating “article.”

That’s some nice graphic design talent with the super-imposed elf accessories. Still didn’t distract me from drooling over the woman’s impeccable muscle tone in her legs.

 

Thanks for making Beyonce look like the Hulk in this photo, it’s further evidence of my hypothesis that Bey can work just about any hair color, including demon purple. Still looks fly.

 

Last but not least, my favorite is the vision of Beyonce lifting at the Olympics. That’s probably next on her list of career goals that she will achieve – earning a gold medal in whichever sport she chooses and then getting a standing ovation for another couple thousand people as she wows the world yet again – but, this time, with her angelic vocals – during closing ceremonies.

That woman – no, GODDESS – rocked that stadium so hard there were rumors of her prowess KNOCKING THE POWER OUT OF THE ENTIRE EVENT. She is not a part of the human race.

(For the record, she didn’t. Blame poor generators. Beyonce would never be so selfish, but I digress).

So, until you Upgrade yourself, meaning – sell billions of albums, score the baddest guy in the game, fill up national and international arenas, give birth to the most beautiful baby in the world (no one will EVER care about your offspring as much as we all do about baby Blu), and get your body back in record time, nail a GQ cover looking like this…

 

Fortify a friendship with the President of the United States and then perform at his inauguration, score 16 Grammy’s AND grab her 17^th , land a half-time show gig and a full two-hour documentary on HBO WITHIN THE SAME MONTH….

Pfft.

To the left, to the left.