There is a fairly common belief held in our society. A belief which posits that Beyoncé is #flawless to the point of being an advanced humanoid from the future who does not have the capacity to do anything misguided or embarrassing. As far as theories go, it makes a lot of sense. Apart from the journalist responsible for that Huffington Post article claiming Bey has yet to "earn" her Album of the Year Grammy, most people concur that Lemonade is an audio-visual masterpiece, with her 2013 self-titled being the only other recent release that comes close.
On stage, she is a force beyond approach—like a natural disaster, but a good one. She announced her first pregnancy by bursting open a sequin dinner jacket and sensually rubbing her tummy after blasting through all of the 5,000 key changes of "Love On Top." Her thighs work harder than the UN. Beyoncé is un-fucking-real. Except, guys, we are all forgetting something. Something terrible, something important. No, not her starring role in a hip-hop adaptation of Bizet's Carmen, which sounds like Destiny's Child doing "Trapped In The Closet". We are forgetting the 2002 motion picture Austin Powers in Goldmember.
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