Post Number Forty Five

“Whatever the FUG You Say”

PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT. It has recently come to my attention that certain “persons” (if they do so see themself so) of what can only be described as being of the Tranny Troll persuasion have gravely offended the Author of this blog (me) by firing off the wicked, base and/or baseless insinuendoes that said Author (still me) has not now– nor ever has previously– gotten familiar with what a “drag queen” looks like these days.

A CAUTION. Comments of this type are extremely actionable. Which is why– in response to the comments I just commented on– I am indeed undertaking action by sayin’ the words:

“BULLSHIT, man!… Or woman… I do SO know (more or less) what a drag queen looks like these days! I just… y’know… sometimes find it hard to recognize ’em under all that makeup, that’s all…”

Furthermore, my Gender Studies lecturer slash Guru has forcibly told me that real drag queens are “whatever the frack they say they are”– even if what they say they are is a Blatant Lie.

Of course, there are major exceptions to the old “whatever the frack they say” law, and the biggest of these exceptions is the one where certain “people” say what they say out of mockery. You know what I’m sayin’. It’s like when “guys” only wear the drag of a real drag queen, thereby making a mockery (like I said) of those “guys” whose fake femininity is… umm… a more sincere mock-up of what Womyn look like… And how they dress. Or at least, how they would be dressing if they were… y’know… “drag queens.”

And while everything I’ve said above is absolutely Right On, Man, I’d like to remain on the front foot an’ climb back on my moral high horse (which, of course, would be a GELDING. Hm?) and say in a loud “how-dare-they” voice that what I really find offensive is the use of the word “naïve”.

Oh, “naïve“, then??

So that’s how ya spell it…

Well, now that we both know, perhaps I can answer an accusation with a question: Would a “naïve” person get arrested in South East Asia like I once (allegedly) did?

Answer: No. Only worldly people get arrested abroad. Naïve people stay at home to get arrested. Sometimes without even leaving the comfort(s) of their lounge-room(s)– making them both naïve and lazy. Too lazy, that is, to put down their damn booze cans , levitate their ample buttocks off the cushionry, and go outdoors where they can be drunk in public for a change. Of course, if they then get arrested in public, that won’t make ’em any less naïve… But it will mean they’ve taken the first of many staggers on the path to becoming worldly.

And speakin’ of lazy, all Mike Spilligan does these days while my housemates (A.K.A Mum ‘n’ Dad) are at work is bludge around on the couch (or “divan” as he calls it) clad in Mum’s kimono, capped off with a wig on his head (in rollers, too. Dunno why). Started me wondering who’s benefit all this domestical disguising was for. I mean, the lounge-room’s hardly a public thoroughfare. Not since Dad put up all those “No Through Road” signs in the hallway, at least.

“So what’s the story, Michelangelo?”

He answered by telling me that he needed the disguise because he heard the GANOOSH CLAN were living nearby and he was not “in the mood” to see ’em, on account of it being his (i.e. Mike’s) “time-o’-the-month” (whatever that means). The problem arose from contact he had inside the dungeon with PRISONER GANOOSH (or “PG” for short). “PG” wanted Mike to find the person who snipped the nose-nerves  of his nephews (uh-oh). Word on the street is the nose-nerves got affected so bad the twins (his nephews) lost their (alleged) E.S.P powers (if you believe in that sort’a thing). Ergo, a search was triggered.

“Well, I certainly hope you don’t find me,” said I, before shrewdly shouting: “BECAUSE I NEVER DONE IT!! Go blame somebody else! Blame… I dunno… some sort of “non-me” type individual or something… Because it’s obvious that he (or she) is the man who did it. With his pruning sheers, not mine… So just, err… just, er… just… out of interest… I wonder if the lads… actually remember..? the dood..? who did..? the deed..?”

He said– oh, happy days!– that the infection had climbed in a Tarzan-like manner up their nasal… membraney… nerve (whatever) things and ate its way into their Memory Lobes.

Phew! There’s a stroke of good luck.

But then my todger (frustrated sigh) interjected with: “I told y’ so.”

“You did no such thing!” I disagreed. “What you said was the Ganooshlings probably caught pain-related brain damage or somethin’.”

That’s when Mike (secondary frustrated sigh) interjected with: “Duncan, who you shouting at down there?”

“My Co… nscience,” is what I replied.

“So yer conscience is in yer groin?” he said.

“Where else would a nineteen year old male’s conscience be?” I wondered. “Up his cabana-dispenser like yours?”

“Hey,” said Mike-slash-Michelle, with his lower lip quivering above his chin-stick. “I’m not proud of what I done back den. ‘Twas a moment of great shame for me, gettin’ caught was.”

“Well, perhaps nex’ time you’ll put a bit more effort into RUNNING AWAY,” I moralized. But the morality of a superior mind (i.e. mine) brought out the chimpanzee in Mike, who flung a “pooh-pooh” in my direction. With awesome verbal dexterousness I dodged his pooh-pooh by telling him to take off my Mum’s kimono and get back in the closet. He said the kimono belonged in the closet, so wearing it outside was technically the same as being in there.

And while I stood musing on this (for ten minutes or so), MUM HERSELF walked in the door–and we both agreed  “that ugly chick on the couch” had a lo-o-o-o-ot of explaining t’ do!