With Katy Perry’s Permission, Orlando Bloom Tends To His Tamagotchi At The Met Gala

"I meant what I said," Katy snarls at Orlando. "If you can't keep your Tamagotchi alive, we're over."

Last night, Orlando Bloom and Katy Perry showed up to the Met Gala wearing matching Tamagotchis. What follows is an extremely real timeline of Orlando's evening tending to his Tamagotchi.

5 p.m.: Orlando Bloom stands in front of a full-length mirror at the Carlyle, brushing a stray cat hair off his red tuxedo. He swallows hard. "Katy?" he says. "Do you ... have a moment?"

Katy Perry strides out of the bathroom, a Crest White Strip placed carefully over each eyebrow. "What is it?" she asks. She is speaking in a British accent. Orlando doesn't ask why. He never asks why.

"Are you sure about this?" he says instead. Katy laughs loudly, a White Strip dangling over one eye. "About what? About us?" She walks up to Orlando and clenches his balls in one hand. "Of course I'm not sure. I'm Katy Fucking Perry. The only thing I'm sure about is that you're the luckiest man on this planet, Frodo."

Orlando swallows again. "I meant ... about the Tamagotchis," he says. Katy removes her hand from his balls and drags one long nail across her throat. "Yes, Orlando," she says, putting the nail into her mouth and pulling a stray cat hair from the inside. "I meant what I said. If you can't keep your Tamagotchi alive, we're over. I need to know that you're responsible, that you can take care of a child. The next step is taking care of an actual child. Then, finally, I will allow you to watch my cats when I take a shower."

Orlando has no saliva left now. "But ... I'm already a father," he whispers. Katy peels a White Strip from her eyebrow, which is now beautifully bleached, and places it over his open mouth. He nods in understanding.

6 p.m.: Orlando and Katy sit in silence in a long black limo. Katy hands Orlando his Tamagotchi, which she has been hiding beneath her tongue. "It's a classic," she says "White, with black accents." Orlando feels soothed by its simplicity. How hard can this be? he thinks. I'm a father. I'm a father. I'm a — "You know what to do, right?" asks Katy coolly, turning on the tiny Japanese machine. "Yes," he says, a little too loudly. In truth, he had never heard the word Tamagotchi before late April, when Katy sent him a lengthy email explaining her plan. "We've been together for almost four months," she'd written. "It's time to talk about the future, and also about Elizabethtown." The driver looks back at them both. "Don't help him," screams Katy. The driver quickly turns back to the road.

6:15 p.m.: The Tamagotchi has pooped itself. Katy is engorged with rage. "It's been fifteen minutes, Bilbo," she shrieks. "How many snacks did you feed it?" Orlando stares at the tiny screen, imploring the little monster inside to stop pooping. A snack? What is a snack? "What is a snack?" asks Orlando quietly. Katy opens the limo door. The car is still moving. She hurls herself into traffic.

6:30 p.m.: Orlando is standing at the bottom of the Met steps. He'd tried to follow Katy into traffic only to be yanked back into the limo by the driver. "I'm walking the red carpet ALONE," she'd yelled, bleeding slightly from one eyebrow. "You take the limo. I'll get another limo. A better limo. A limo who knows what he wants and knows how to keep his Tamagotchis from pooping!!!!" Orlando knows better than to argue. Plus, his Tamagotchi is starving. "How do I feed you?" he asks it. He presses all three buttons. A skull shows up next to his Tamagotchi's head. Orlando is apoplectic.

6:35 p.m.: A new Tamagotchi is being born, wiggling from its pixelated shell. Orlando does not know how this happened, but he is grateful. He is still standing on the bottom of the Met steps. A stranger in a tuxedo walks up to him and asks him if he is OK. "Is this a duck?" he asks the man, shaking the Tamagotchi in his face. "What kind of animal is this?!?" The man backs away slowly. Orlando starts to cry. He affixes the Tamagotchi to his tuxedo and begins trudging up the stairs.

6:45 p.m.: The Tamagotchi has fallen asleep and pooped itself again. Orlando puts his hands in his pockets and smiles for the photographers. Inside, he is screaming.

7 p.m.: Inside the Met now. Orlando cannot find his table. Taylor Swift walks by and high-fives him, except he forgets to do his part of the high five. She puts a hand on his chest and shoves him into the wall. His vision is blurring. His Tamagotchi is surrounded by its own waste and will not wake up. Orlando presses a button and the word "Discipline" appears. He laughs helplessly. Discipline. What a cruel joke.

7:20 p.m.: Orlando is at the bar. Four shots of Patron in. He's skipped the exhibit — too much distraction, need to focus — and Anna Wintour has already told him to fuck himself. He expects to hear this at least four more times before she pulls him into the coat closet and mounts him. It's the same every year. This year, though, he's got Katy (where is she?) and his tiny Japanese demon. Karolina Kurkova walks up to him and yanks the Tamagotchi from his grasp. "WHAT IS THIS?" she squeals. She begins pressing buttons haphazardly. Orlando, distracted by her insane dress, fumbles to explain. "It's ... I'm a father," he tries. She hands it back to him. "Your child looks dead," she says.

7:30 p.m.: In the bathroom now. Orlando can't stop vomiting. There's a knock at the door. It's Olivier Rousteing. "Orlando, it's me. Olivier Rousteing." Orlando kicks open the door. Olivier stares at him. "Katy told me about the Tamagotchi," he says. "She's arrived. You might want to find her." Orlando struggles to his feet and frantically cleans the Tamagotchi, which has been reborn again and is already expressing strong hunger. Olivier watches him wordlessly, taking a quick selfie in the bathroom mirror as Orlando places his head in the sink basin and turns the water on. "You're going to make a terrible cat babysitter," says Olivier.

8 p.m.: Orlando stumbles to his table with help from Olivier Rousteing. Olivier whispers in his ear as he walks away: "You disgust me." Orlando shivers. Katy is sitting at the table already, looking regal and terrifying, as always, in custom Prada. Orlando sits next to her. She reaches for his Tamagotchi without speaking. He hands it to her, and she examines it. "It's hungry. And I can tell this is a new one. This one looks like shit. I hate it. I hate you. You will never touch my cats. I rue the day I ever let you smoke me out at the Golden Globes." Orlando unfolds his napkin and places it over his head.

8:30 p.m.: Someone is speaking onstage. Maybe it's Anna Wintour. Maybe it's Lady Gaga. Or maybe someone is singing. Maybe God is singing. Singing for Orlando's dead Tamagotchi. Orlando has had 12 shots now, his napkin hanging from one ear. He realizes Katy is quiet now, holding his hand and smiling. Orlando is confused but optimistic. "Are we OK?" he texts her. She looks down at her phone, reads the text. A waiter passes by. "Can I have your most terrible cocktail?" she asks sweetly. The waiter brings her something bright blue and foamy. "I took out Kanye's contacts and dissolved them and added egg whites," he says. She lets go of Orlando's hand and drops her phone inside the cocktail.

8:55 p.m.: The fifth Tamagotchi now. Orlando is sitting under the table, playing with it. It has entered a strange game function that it won't get out of. But Orlando likes the game. Because life is just a game, isn't it? The Tamagotchi, which Orlando has decided to call Joan, is weak and small. He pours a tiny drop of tequila into its mechanisms. At least he is giving it a good life before it dies.

9:15 p.m.: Katy sends Derek Jeter to retrieve Orlando and Joan from underneath the table. "After-party time, bro," says Derek. Orlando begins to weep. Derek pulls a baseball from his pants pocket. "Here," he says, palming Orlando's head with his other hand. "Have this." Orlando accepts this small act of kindness, an act he doesn't deserve. "I am a terrible father," he tells Derek. Derek pats him on the back. "There may be people who have more talent than you, but there's no excuse for anyone to work harder than you do — and I believe that," he says. Orlando makes a mental note to write this down later.

9:20 p.m.: Derek escorts Orlando to Katy's limo, where Katy is waiting with a baseball bat. Orlando instinctively covers his head and screams. Katy laughs. "I was holding this for Derek," she says. She hands the bat to Derek. Derek puts it into his pocket and leaves, winking at Orlando.

9:20 p.m.: Katy and Orlando sit in silence again in the limo. Orlando is headed back to the Carlyle, while Katy will go to the Standard High Line soirée and, as she put it, "find a new German elf to fuck." Katy holds out her palm one last time. "Tamagotchi," she says. Orlando reaches into his pocket, finds the small, smooth coffin that carries Joan's decaying corpse, and hands it to her. She stares at the screen, then turns to show him.

Inexplicably, the Tamagotchi is thriving. It has a long beak now and looks fat and happy, like all children should. Orlando is stunned. Katy is thrilled. "You did it, Gollum" she says, cupping his cheek with her hand. For a moment he remembers why he fell in love with her at the Golden Globes. They smooch. She pushes the Tamagotchi back into her mouth, then falls asleep.

Orlando opens Katy's mouth and inspects the Tamagotchi. Can this be real? he wonders. How? Suddenly, he realizes that this Tamagotchi is not Joan. She doesn't have the same joie de vivre (though she is more literally alive). Then Orlando remembers Derek's baseball. On second thought, it was a little small and beepy to be a baseball, wasn't it?

Orlando reaches into his other pocket and feels the cold, unforgiving shell of Joan's rotting duck carcass. It dawns on him what Derek has done for him: gifted him with a flourishing, beautiful Tamagotchi to call his own. Saved his relationship. Saved his dignity. Saved his life. Derek. Derek!

The limo lurches to a halt. Katy wakes up and excitedly pulls Orlando by the nose into the Standard High Line soirée. Derek Jeter stands on the steps as they walk past. "If you’re going to play at all, you’re out to win," he whispers to Orlando. "Baseball, board games, playing Jeopardy, I hate to lose." "Same," says Orlando. "It’s never over," replies Derek. "You don’t want to be in the position to be down four runs in the ninth inning, but it’s not over until the last out."

Orlando takes a deep breath, reaches into his pocket, and quickly hands Joan to Derek. "Take care of her," he whispers. He follows Katy into the party.