The following is a purely fictional Manly Man Manifesto retelling of the spectacular Fashion Diva party organized by Zarah for the 7th birthday party of her little girl, Bea, at Club Princess on Bonifacio High Street.

*****

“What terrors lie within this festering hellhole lined with glitters and faux fur, and stinking of Melondew and Vanilla?” MDJ Superstar asked himself, as he tentatively nudged open the lime green gates guarding the entrance to the no-man’s-land known as Club Princess.

A lamb about to enter the lion's den.

The intro riff of Justin Bieber‘s “Eenie Meenie“ shattered the air, their Satanic verses casting even more trauma upon MDJ’s already-straining manhood.

“AUGH!!! MY EYES!!!” MDJ screamed, falling to his knees as before him, a parade of fur-trimmed jelly loot bags forming their ranks. They sat menacingly upon the shelves, their gaping jaws lined with the blood of dead glitterkins.

Fur-trimmed lootbags lay in wait, their gaping jaws dripping with the blood of dead glitterkins.

Around him, jewel-colored wigs lined the walls, strange tokens perhaps from the legendary Eastern European War of the Supermodels, in all likelihood ripped from the scalps of Scandinavian fashion models as they lay bleeding to death on leopard-print throw rugs.

Trophies of the hunt.

“Ssssave us…” a trembling spectral whisper beseeched MDJ, as before him, slavering 7-year old Assumptionista girls submitted themselves to strange, unearthly manipulations and hairstyling rituals.

Club Princess torture scars.

MDJ let out an anguished wail, then whirled around in a panicked attempt to escape from the freakish practices surrounding him.

“You cannot leave, Superstar” growled the gaunt, haunted waif of a girl who manifested before him, the electric pink fur of a slaughtered snugglepuff trailing from her claws. “Not until you submit yourself to… the Royal Diva Treatment.”

The Spectral Guardian to Club Princess.

“But I cannot do it,” MDJ Superstar screeched. “My abundant pools of testosterone will not allow myself to be prostituted upon the Shrine of Lady Gaga! Just look at the horrors that are being inflicted upon these helpless little girls! The horror, oh, the horror!”

Another victim of the Cult of Gaga.

“Do not mock the Gaga,” intoned the sombre fleet of little girls who had somehow succeeded in barricading our brave, bemuscled Superstar from escaping the softly-perfumed interiors of Club Princess. “We are preparing for… a fashion pictorial.”

The horde of little girls freshly-subjected to the horrors of the Royal Diva Treatment.

“You win,” MDJ weakly murmured, his knees melting into a useless mess of potpourri. “I am helpless to resist the combined powers of Arch-Demon Bieber and the Hell Queen Gaga. Where do I begin?”

“Well,” the horde of little diva princesses piped up, “you can help us by organizing our poses for our fashion pictorial!”

“Very well,” sighed MDJ Superstar, his once-proud tenor having devolved into a weak slush of resignation. “You can start by taking your sparkly shades and jeweled boas, then lining up by height outside along Bonifacio High Street.”

The diva princesses preparing for their fashion pictorial posedown.

*****

Did MDJ Superstar survive the hellish ordeal about to be set upon him by the joined forces of the Satanic Bieber-Gaga union? Click here for Part Two, the spine-tingling conclusion of our horrific tale of fashion and frou-frou, only here on MDJSuperstar.com!