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Hell. No.

Hell. No.
The second I saw Nicki Minaj hit the carpet in red fishing tarp being escorted by my Uncle, I knew we were in for it. But really, I didn't know how in for it we actually were. In what can only be described at the most awkward opening sequence in the history of time, Minaj began her performance in a mock confessional, with my Uncle, who smartly covered his ears. We were then abruptly segued into a mini-movie titled, "The Exorcism of Roman" (Does Pulanski know about this?).  The eye rolling may have not been audible, but the uncomfortable laughing certainly was. Apparently, this was really happening. Cut back to the performance, Nicki is now strapped to some sort of device.  Lots of dancers.  Explosions.  Altar boys. Cue the church choir.  Oh wait, she's levitating.  Okay, it's over. Hopefully someone remembered to take her down. There better be a SAG card in his future. [Pope, Nicki Minaj via, via]

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