I Shoulda listened to Rebbie Jackson...

I was relaxing on the sofa reading George “Dubya” Bush’s book… who knew he was such a great satirist? This stuff is comedy gold! The lowest point in his presidency was when Kanye West called him a racist! BWAHAHAHA… Hilarious! Sure he could have played it straight and said something like the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, or hell, 9/11, but he went the funny route. And the bit about carrying around Barbie’s miscarried fetus in a jar… seriously, I couldn’t stop laughing… but I digress…

So yeah, I’m all cozy when I hear somebody pounding on the door. I quickly put on my silk bathrobe, the one with the feather trim, not the pink one, but the green one… its after 9:00 and you never know, it could be Ryan Reynolds responding to a certain tweet you sent saying how you’d love to see that Green Lantern costume in person… so I open the door and there are three men in black suits standing stoically on the porch.

“Ma'am, we have a warrant to search the premises and confiscate any computers you may have in your possession,” the Head Goon said

“What? Why?” I protested as two of the goons shoved past me and started searching my house.

“You have been flagged as viewing material on the interweb that is has been categorized as illegal. You are now going to have to register yourself on our watch list.”

“No way, man, the website clearly said that they were all over eighteen!”

“No ma'am, this is not in reference to your visiting Fresh Twinkies dot com, you have been flagged as having viewed ‘The Human Centipede’ in its entirety.”

“But… but… I was just curious to see what all the hub-bub was about-- you can’t be serious!” I said, just as the youngest goon walked up, a look of repulsion on his face. He carried, between his thumb and index finger, a copy of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”

“Indeed,” the Head Goon mumbled.

“What? I’ve had that book since I was a kid! It’s a first edition! This is crazy, the movie was on Netflix for fucksake!”

“Yes Ma'am, that’s what we refer to as a sting operation,” one of the more handsome goons said as he put my laptop into a plastic bag marked “evidence.”

“Surely we can work something out,” I said, turning toward him, allowing my robe to slip off one of my shoulders.

The Handsome Goon looked at my smooth toned shoulder, then looked me in the eyes, “It’s a movie about a man sewing people together, ass to mouth,” he said as he shoved past me. Then he turned and added, “You disgust me.”

“Seriously, it’s just a movie! Granted one that was hilariously bad while simultaneously being thoroughly disturbing!”

“You can tell it to the judge,” the Head Goon said

“What’s he doing?” I asked, looking past the Head Good at the younger one who was hammering a sign into the grass at the end of my driveway.

“You are required to prominently display that in your front lawn until further notice,” he added, then walked out. After they had left, I walked down the end of my drive way to get a better look at the sign. It was in the shape of a centipede and read “Pervert” in large bright letters. Just then Ryan Reynolds rolled up on his skateboard. He glanced at the sign, then back at me.

“Well then,” he said with a hunger in his voice, “I hope there is a bit of truth in advertising!”

“And I hope your abs aren’t totally CGI,” I said coyly.

“Only one way to find out. Shall we take this inside?” he asked as he pulled a bottle of Strawberry Hill out of a paper bag.

“Lets!” I said, pulling him toward the house. When life hands you lemons, you hook it up with some Boone’s Farm.

Start Wearing Purple

I was on my way to have lunch with my fashion protégé, Tim Gunn [correction, brunch, you know how the gays love their bunches… just cause you roll out of bed late and fancy it up with Mimosas it’s still effing pancakes and waffles… but whatev’]. As I’m rolling up to the valet, I notice everyone is wearing purple.

“Excuse me, young lad, what day is it today?” I say, flagging down a young man who was sashaying gaily by, and by gaily I mean merrily and not “gay-ly,” though he was clearly a queen. “What’s with all the purple? Did Prince explode or something?”

“No, silly goose, its Spirit Day!” he said. Then after reading my blank expression, he continued, “You are supposed to wear purple today to support for the kids that were bullied because they were gay.”

“Shazbot!” I exclaimed, glancing at the clock. “I still have time to make it right!” I then tossed him a shilling and told him to go out and get the finest prize turkey he could find before I sped off.

Unfortunately, luck was not in my favor, as it appeared all of the clothing stores in the neighborhood were not going to open for another two hours. But I was never being one to back down off a challenge [and I don’t mean a fit nubile pool boy named Challenge… though that’s something I wouldn’t back off of either… with his firm pecks and strong arms… wait, now where was I…]. Once I was able to regain focus, I quickly came up with a brilliant idea and I pulled into a liquor store to purchase a large bottle of Crown Royal.

I pulled the bottle out of its purple cloth bag and set it aside, then dumped the contents of my purse into the purple bag, and voila, instant clutch and more importantly, avid cause supporter! Now, what to do with the bottle of whiskey? I very well couldn’t drive around the city with an open bottle in the car! So I popped the bottle open and downed it, its five o’clock somewhere, right?

By the time I arrived back at the restaurant, I was fashionably late, so really, I was on time. Granted I almost took out the valet when I crashed into the podium, but everyone LOVED my fancy new purse, and I was honoring those victims of anti-gay bullying by bringing attention to the matter… and that’s what’s important… [and that I looked fabulous doing it]!

Never cross a sleeping angel...

Pygar and I were having a lovely picnic in the park, just soaking up the beautiful day. A slow breeze was meandering through the trees while the sun was shining down from a bright blue sky. Chi-Chi, Pygar's German Shepard frolicked in the grass while Pygar took a little power-nap on the blanket we had laid out. It was so serene that I felt like writing a poem, you know something to really capture the moment.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood," I jotted down in my dream journal. "And sorry I could not travel both." Oh man, this was gonna be some good shit, I thought as I continued to write.

Sadly, my poetic flow was interrupted by the loud whine of a spoiled brat, "But moooom, I don't wanna go to the park, I wanna play on my Gameboy!"

I looked up to see a woman walking down the paved path pushing an 8 year old in a stroller. "Hunter, now you just hush now, we'll be back at the car as soon as we cut through this park.

"This park is stupid and ugly," he said, throwing a candy bar wrapper to the ground. I cut into the brat with my eyes, but the little punk deflected my shade right back at me. By this time, Pygar sat up, his quiet reverie broken.

"Excuse me," I said calmly," but I do believe you dropped something." I pointed to the candy wrapper on the ground. The woman turned and looked at the trash, then threw a sneer in my direction.

"Well I never!" I said, turning to Pygar to find that he had disappeared. I looked back toward the rude lady and brat child to see Pygar materialize in front of them. He leaned down to the stroller with a warm and pleasant smile.

"Sweet child," he started, "you should pause and enjoy this beautiful day. Do you not hear the birds singing? The trees rustling? I can not see these things, but I can feel the beauty, and I can only imagine how fantastic it would be to see it in all of its glory."

"Whatever, this is stupid and you're stupid," the brat spit, while the mother smiled smugly.

Pygar merely paused, smiled, then leaned in a little closer, "Think on this, one day, you will die, and while your body sits in a dark coffin buried deep in the ground the worms will feed on your rotten little carcass. And in turn those worms will help the soil, and all of these beautiful trees with become even more beautiful, but not because of the nutrients from your decayed flesh, but merely because your sorry little ass won't be around any more. But where will you be? Why, you'll be drifting in the black void of nothingness. Can you picture that for me? Absolute. Nothingness."

Tears started to stream down the kid's chocolate covered cheeks while the mother gasped with dismay.

"Oh shut up," Pygar growled, "and pick up your trash, you dumb bitch!" The lady cowered and ran back to the candy wrapper, quickly depositing it into the trashcan.

"And Santa Claus isn't real!" I yelled to the kid as his mother frantically pushed him down the path to get away from us as fast as possible.

"Tea?" Pygar asked, he had already returned to the blanket and was holding a teapot.

"Sounds lovely!"

Money Cab!

I was leaving Pygar's apartment after getting ready for the premiere of my BFF Angie's new movie [I think its called Pepper... or Curry... I dunno, something like that], and I figured it'd be easier just to take a cab [you know, just in case I hook up with some hottie, I want to make sure he drives me home].

So run downstairs and jump into the waiting cab. Just as I put my seat-belt on all these lights start flashing and shit. Of course I'm thinkin' maybe I'm having a flashback or something, so I try and play it real cool.

"You're in the Money Cab!" the cabbie exclaimed.

"Wait, you're not hot little Ben Bailey," I say to the clearly not Ben Bailey. This cabbie wasn't even cute, actually he looked like a creepy older version of a nameless drag queen who jumped off the top of Pygar's apartment building. "And don't you mean 'Cash Cab?'"

"No, no, this is totally different. But you can still totally win money! So do you wanna play?"

"Sure, why not," I say, after all, if this Skaggs Lady Lee knock off wants to give me money, who am I to argue. "So, this is going to be on TV, huh?" I said nervously, noticing the small camera mounted above the dash.

"Uhm--yeah...! On TV!"

"I'm suddenly feeling a bit anxious," I giggled nervously, concerned about how my hair and make up were.

"I have some Quaaludes if you want?" He offered, holding up a box of Lemonheads.

"You keep 'ludes in a box of Lemonheads?"

"Yeah, its uh... just more convenient. So do you want one?"

"Uhm, no, I think I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" he said, shaking the box slightly.

"No... thanks... really."

"Well you just let me know if you change your mind. So shall we play the game now?" he asked as we pulled into traffic.

"Yes! Bring it on!" I said rubbing my hands together.

"Okay, the first question is worth 25$! Do you date older men?"

"Well that's a strange question, I thought this was supposed to be general--"

"15 seconds, I need your answer!" he interrupted.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, I get excitable even watching game shows, let alone being on one!

"Good-err, I mean, Correct! The next question is worth 50$. Without looking, what color are your panties?"

"Really, I don't understand the relevance--"

"10 seconds!"

"Damn, I need to use my mobile shout-out," I said. He handed me a mobile phone and asked who I was going to call. "My friend, Pygar, he's an angel."

"Hello?" I heard Pygar say at the other end of the line.

"Pygar, its Frau, I'm in the Money Cab and I need your help with a question. This afternoon, when I was changing at your place, what color panties was I wearing?"

"Frau, first of all, you do realize that I am blind. Secondly, when have you ever worn panties?"

"Of course! Oh Pygar, I could kiss you! Thanks, I'll call you later" I said, hanging up the phone, the to the cabbie, "I'm not wearing any!"

"Oh yes," his said, his voice dropped slightly as the cab swerved a little, "that's the right answer! You are doing so well, can I offer you a Lemonhead?"

"Ooo, yeah, I love Lemonheads!" I said, taking a Lemonhead from the box, "They're way better than stupid Cherry Chan, I mean really, what a racist. You know, these aren't very sour," I added, sucking on the candy.

"Uhm... its because they're super fresh! Next question! For 100$! Are you old enough to vote?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you lose," he appeared to be genuinely crestfallen.

"But I am old enough to vote!" I protested.

"Yeah... sorry, I'm going to have to kick you out here," he said pulling off to the side of the road.

"But we're on the 405!"

"Sorry, but those are the rules of the game," he said as he drove off.



"Well ain't that a fine 'how do you do,'" I said to myself as I stuck my thumb out to try and hitch a ride. But then my arm started to feel really heavy, and I thought it sounded like a good idea to sit by the side of the road... and maybe rest my eyes a minute. Next thing I knew, I woke up three days later in Palm Springs laying in the back of a car with Jeremy London, an empty bottle of Hennessy, and an eighth of crank.

Skin this cat...

So I was walking down the street listening the to the new Scissor Sisters on my Zune [is it just me, or does it sound like it could have been produced by Groovie Mann and Buzz McCloy...?] when I spied a sandwich board on the corner advertising a discount Brazilian wax with an arrow pointing down the next street. Well, it is summer, and I have been remiss in the grooming of my Boo Boo Kitty, and you know much how bitches love a good discount... so naturally I turned the corner as the arrow directed.

After a few feet, I came upon another sign. "This way to your super discount Brazilian!" that pointed down a dark alley. I had already invested a few paces into this venture and there was no turning back now. So I continued on... into the dark damp alley... a cat awkwardly jumped across my path [almost as it somebody just out of frame chucked him at me] and darted towards a dumpster, knocking over some bottles as it hurried away.

I went to see if the cat was okay when I saw a strange figure stooped suspiciously behind the dumpster. My first thought was that it was just a misplaced bridge troll, but I was suddenly gripped by fear... it was as though I might be channeling Jamie Lee Curtis. I approached cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. I slowly reach my quivering hand toward the hunched creature.

"Oooo girl, don't do it!" an unseen black girl screamed off in the distance, but I couldn't help it, and I wasn't sure why, but I was compelled to see the creature. Then I saw what it was holding in its stubby little hands and I couldn't help but let out a startled gasp...

The figure quickly turned turned toward me after hearing my gasp. I could see more clearly the large rat [I suppose it coulda been a nutria, I mean it was pretty big] he was holding, a huge bite taken out of its side.

"I must feed!" Glenn Beck snarled, as rat blood [nutria blood? I still couldn't really tell... you know, the more I think about it, it coulda been that stupid cat] ran over his lips and down his chin.

"Oh, I was right, it is just a misplaced bridge troll," I said, regaining my composure and continuing on my way to my super discount Brazilian. The slurping sounds from Glenn slowly faded into white noise as I approached the third and final sign pointing into the back entrance of an abandoned Millers Outpost.

"Hello, pretty lady, you here for discount Brazilian?" a polite man with a thick Russian accent asked as I entered.

"You know it!"

"Good, good, you lay down here," he said, directing me to the old check out counter.

"Its been a while, is this gonna hurt?" I asked.

"No, no, not at all," he said, pulling out a thick roll of gaffer's tape. "Like big band-aide, very quick." I raised an eyebrow with suspicion. "Very good discount," he added and I was sold. I mean how could I say no, it was a good discount... and he was kinda hot...

---

Meanwhile, in the alley, the only sounds were that of the misplaced bridge troll feasting hungrily. It had been weeks since it had last fed and he worried that the lady would come back and take his food. It continued to look around cautiously back in the direction that the lady had went. Then, suddenly a piercing scream slashed through the quiet of the alley and scared the little bridge troll. It dropped its meal and ran blindly in the other direction, right out into the street, where it was promptly struck down by a street sweeper as it drove down the street picking up trash.

I guess I should really get a TIVO...

Oh man, can I just tell you how pissed off I am? Last night I rushed home to watch Tuesday nights episode of “Lost” that I had set the VCR to tape [I had a previously scheduled date to take George Clooney to Yogurtland for his birthday, and I couldn’t bear to listen to him crying if I canceled on him... again... sometimes I just wish he would just man up]... anywho, so I walk into the living room and find the Ghost of Michael Jackson, Gore Vidal, and George Takei hogging up the sofa.


“Excuse me guys, but ya’ll need to beat it,” I said.

“We were just watching ‘This is It.’ This is the best part,” Michael Jackson’s Ghost said, adding an “Eee-hee” while grabbing his crotch.

“Myra, can you move, you’re blocking the TV and I don’t want to miss it,” Gore Vidal said, shooing me away with his hand.

“Right, well, you are going to have to finish watching this later, I need to watch Lost. And besides, what are you still doing in my house, Michael?”

“Oh Frau, yer such a card! You know we’re roomies now,” he answered.

“Roommates?” I scoffed. “How ‘bout paying a little rent then!?”

“Myra, if you are going to just stand there, be a doll and top me off,” Gore said, waving an empty glass in my direction. I glared back with silent sass, the deadliest of all sass, but he just feigned being parched by making a dry noise with his mouth. Damn, this queen was good.

“Whatever,” I continued, “you guys are just going to have to wait.” I turned and stopped the DVD, then pushed play on the VCR. I was gripped by a silent Pavlovian rage as a familiar theme song filled the air.

“She’s fantastic! Made of Plastic! Microchips here and there!” the television sang.

“What. The. Hell?” I said as I turned back toward the sofa. There may have been fire in my eyes, I’m not sure.

“Oh yeah, there was a ‘Small Wonder’ marathon on channel five, so I taped it! I just love that little V.I.C.I.,” The Ghost of Michael Jackson said, adding, “jammon!”

“Voice Input Child Identicant,” George Takei chirped in with a smile.

“I hope you don’t mind, I used that blank tape you had in there,” Michael said. I would have been seething with animosity if I hadn’t been paralyzed by anger. It took me a few seconds to regain my motor functions.

“Do you not realize how awesome that episode was supposed to be? Jin and Sun both died in the helicopter crash!” Oh sorry, spoiler alert if anyone hasn’t watched it yet.

“Myra, since your show isn’t on, can you put our DVD back on?” Gore Vidal said, breaking the proverbial camel's back.

“STOP CALLING ME MYRA!” I screamed. “I am a one hundred percent natural woman! SEE!” I added as I impulsively flashed him my koochie.

“Oh my!” George Takei exclaimed.

My rage quickly turned to red hot embarrassment, as I realized that I still had my winter coat and hadn’t shaved or tapered the growler in months. I sobbed and ran upstairs like a teenage girl. I ended up spending the rest of the evening scouring the web for a bit torrent of the Lost finale. Turns out the whole thing was just a dream that Bob Newhart was having, what a disappointment. Well, at least Kate didn’t turn out to be Mitochondrial Eve.

freaking guys with iphones

I was enjoying a Vanilla Ice Blended Ultimate at the local Coffee Bean when I felt a movement worth of Beethoven coming on. The place had been empty since I walked in and as I made my way to the restroom, I was looking forward to the reassurance of a cold toilet seat [really, there’s nothing grosser than a warm toilet seat… well aside from a wet one].

I opened the door to the unisex restroom, and was greeted by some tween toe-head standing in front of the sink staring at porno on his iPhone while rubbing one out!

“What the French, toast?” I exclaimed.

“Oh my goodness! Please, please, please,” he begged as he scrambled to pull up his pants, “you can’t tell anyone you saw me here.”

“To be honest, I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Justin Bieber.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Justin Bieber.”

I paused for a second, “Who?”

“Singer, songwriter, Justin Bieber. I was just on Saturday Night Live,” he said. I stared blankly at him. “People were trampled at my concert in Australia,” he added.

“Nope, sorry,” I said, still drawing a blank. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I mean really, how creepy would it be for a thir—er—twenty five year old woman to go on about catching some teen twirp rubbin’ one out… be he vampire or not.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you, I really appreciate it,” He gushed as he walked past me. “Oh and I’m sorry, I peed on the seat a little,” he added as he closed the door behind him. I turned and looked at the drenched toilet seat. Fucker even pissed all over the walls and the toilet paper [which all the more shocking because it was one of those toilet paper dispensers with the huge plastic cover and just the little hole underneath].

“Oh Fuck that!” I yelled, “Game on Bieber, whoever the fuck you are! Game on!”