In the middle of the nightly news, soccer playoffs (well, locally speaking, football), children's television, there's static and an extreme closeup on a very familiar set of eyes and nose, the camera jitters a bit and pulls back.
She disappears in 2016 to the surprise of the world's paparazzi. Speculation runs rampant. Drugs again? Nervous breakdown? Secretly dead in a ditch?
And then, twenty-three years later, the broadcast comes.
"Hi, Little Monsters! Hello world!" Lady Gaga says, adjusting the camera into place and peering up to it. She twirls happily and is wearing a skintight silver lamé jumpsuit with a Marilyn Monroe skirt on top. She looks five years older, not twenty-three. "Sorry for the disappearance and all, but my friends the Gofrinchans liked my work and decided they needed an ambassador who really understood them, and if I told Rolling Stone I was going to be thousands of lightyears away, they'd think I was making one of my little jokes so..."
"Anyway, I'm totally ambassador to Earth and they really want to meet your leaders, but they'd really appreciate it if you greet them in their traditional manner and PARTY DOWN MOTHERFUCKERS! Can you do that? I know you can do that. And I'm going to do some all-new songs just for you to help you get down!"
Three gangling brown spaghetti-beings bound onscreen next to her and Gaga happily wraps her arms around their shoulders. "Don't worry, Earth! This is going to be amazing. Eat it, haters!"
And it is amazing.