You REALLY wanna read this column? Beware . . .

IF THERE'S a lesson to be learned from Madonna's visit to Singapore, it's this: you have to be very careful about who reads what you write. I might be a devoted dog person writing on a website that is explicitly labelled "For Other Dog People Only", simply expressing my true blue feelings about cats being the she-devils of the domesticated animal kingdom. You can see it's not meant for cat people to read, right? I'm not trying to influence all you she-devil cat worshippers out there. There is NO need to troll me all the way into the plot line of Spotlight.

Seriously, cat people. Don't be mad. You're not supposed to be reading this. Which brings me to my next point. That we must now all use disclaimers before we say or write anything. If you're going to keep reading this, then I should warn you. This column is rated R-18. Because it's about Madonna's concert last Sunday. So there will be much simulated swearing and stuff about her poking her private parts on stage. I'm not sure why she did that. She was sweaty, but did not seem particularly itchy that night. Maybe she was just trying to jerk our chain? B****.

See, see? If this bothers you, who asked you to keep on reading? You're not my intended audience. I don't want to get letters of complaint from the morally inclined, or language purists decrying the demise of the English vocabulary. Please. Don't preach.

Since I'm not much into confrontation, I'm just going to spell out the exact terms of reading me. For example, I plan to do a guest post on the Facebook page of Genuine Singaporeans Who Twerk. I am going to say that if I had been in the S$1,288 VIP seats, I would have gladly let a formerly straight Singaporean climb all over my Chanel 2.55 bag so he could scrabble his way to the stage to be saved by Madonna. Even if he had to wear thigh-high boots and slinky black panties and twerk unapologetically with the Queen of Pop and her banana.

So this post is meant only for genuine Singaporeans who can applaud spontaneity. It is not for that other branch of genuine Singaporeans who can afford the VIP seats out of their own pocket, but when Madonna asks them what they do for a living, withdraw into their typical Singaporean don't-want-people- to-know-how-rich-I-am instinct and reply, "finance stuff". Dude, when Madonna asks you if you're stacked, loaded or stinking rich - it's a SHOW. You're not supposed to be modest - you should be screaming, "Hell, yeah!" and go onstage and marry her.

Just so we're clear. Those Singaporeans are not my target audience.

Now, I also have this website that is read - please note - only by People Not Much Younger Than Madonna Chronologically But Who are Biologically 80 Years Old in Comparison. So we belong to the era where concert-going was a polite affair. You sat down in your allocated seats and clapped quietly when the pop star in question sang your favourite songs. If it was a particularly enjoyable number, you could wiggle your bum a little on your seat to show your appreciation.

Therefore, I wrote a piece that is not meant to be read by Shabby Flabby Not-Genuine-Singaporean Chicks From The Cheap Seats At Section 111, especially the two who blocked my view by shaking it really hard on the aisle such that I could see flesh fighting to stay stable against the impact of G-forces. Not that I would have picked on their physique, if not for the way one of them deliberately stuck her ticket stub in her boobs and dared the hapless usher to try and find out where her real seat was. But oh, what the heck. If she does read this, that's OK. I intend to repost this on the website of Singaporeans Who Lament How This Used To Be Our Playground.

And of course, finally, this is not for The Undying Fans of Madonna but the Why Didn't She Sing More Songs For The Oldies group. This deliberate outrageousness as a plan to stay relevant in the material world? Methinks I would prefer if she went on a nostalgia tour like that other old fogey Tom Jones, who also happens to be coming to town next and is prepared to have adult diapers tossed at him instead.

Now, I know there will be those out there who think that I am talking utter rubbish and that words are words - if you put them out, someone's going to read them. And they will probably start writing letters of complaint to say that I should not be writing this column, even though I have already explained that this is rated R-18 and made very clear exactly who can read this and who cannot.

So go ahead, write what you want. Just don't tell me - I'm not going to read it.