(Satire ahead: proceed with caution)Singer Lady Gaga has swept the hearts and minds of millions of young, aspiring whores in the last few years. I interviewed the notorious pop icon last week to see what her appeal is.Burns: “Thank you so much for you time, Miss Ga. Let’s get straight to it: Are you really as promiscuous as your music suggests?”Gaga: “Well, once you kill a cow, you might as well make a few hamburgers.”Burns: “That’s an absolutely idiotic philosophy. But now I’m curious, where do you get inspiration for your lyrics? Is it true you stole them from some ninth-grade skank’s diary? Or are you really that poetically illiterate?”Gaga: “I don’t care what you heard. Watch me, watch me swing my weave. I’m gon’ stunt on them hoes.”Burns: “… Fair enough. Moving on, rumor has it you have male genitalia. Is that true?”Gaga: “You can’t read my poker face.”Burns: “Excuse me?”Gaga: “My my my poker face — my my poker face.”Burns: “First off, that has absolutely nothing to do with my question. Second, never question my gambling skills. I’m a superb poker player.”Gaga: “My my my poker face — my my poker face.”Burns: You keep saying that, but I don’t think you know what it means. Besides, enough with the stut-tt-tt-tering, Miss Magoo. We get it: You have the face of a mutilated muskrat, the body of a dollar-menu prostitute and the singing voice of a sexually confused teenage boy. Now answer my question: Do you or do you not have a special something slithering between your legs?”Gaga: “… I wanna hold ‘em like they do in Texas Play.”Burns: “Your testicles, I presume? May I see them … for verification?”Gaga: “Go! Use your muscle. Carve it out. Work it. Hustle. I got it. Just stay close enough to get it. Don’t slow! Drive it. Clean it. Lights out. Bleed it.”Burns: “Whoa, chill out. I want a sneak peek — not a greasy hands-on demonstration. Besides, I’m not your type. I’m a man.”Gaga: “But I want your drama, the touch of your hand. I want your leather-studded kiss in the sand. And I want your love. Love-love-love.” Burns: “I’m sorry. I don’t speak Lesbianese or Whorean. Come again?” Gaga: “You and I would make a bad romance.”Burns: “No. No no. No no no. What could you possibly want from me?”Gaga: “I want your everything … as long as it’s free.”Burns: “You want my everything as long as it’s … free? What kind of stingy skank are you? Screw this. I’ll call you when you feel like giving a coherent            interview.”Gaga: “You can call all you want, but there’s no one home, and you’re not gonna reach my telephone!”Burns: “That’s fine. You clearly can’t restrain yourself. Goodbye.”Gaga: “But I’m your biggest fan. I’ll follow you until you love me. Papa, paparazzi.”Burns: “Please don’t stalk me. That sounds absolutely horrifying. Besides, the last thing I need is more of your crappy lyrics stuck in my head.Gaga: “Baby, you’ll be famous.”Burns: “For dating a notoriously unstable whore? Who do you think I am, Reggie Bush?”Gaga: “Then just dance. It’s gonna be OK, da da doo-doo-mmm. Just dance.”Burns: “I don’t think dancing will solve anything. You’re clearly in desperate need of a licensed shrink and a top-notch plastic  surgeon. Besides, I’ve learned my lesson: Never give an attention whore the fame she craves for, because this is what you get.”Scott Burns is a 20-year-old economics junior from Baton Rouge. Follow him on Twitter@TDR_sburns.—-Contact Scott Burns at [email protected]