My review of Memoirs of a Geisha, which I liked very much ("love" is such a strong word) is forthcoming, but in the meantime Kevondrala suggested a parody be created entitled Memoirs of Keisha, that would of course star the Thompson Triplets (Blurty, Breezy, and Queef) as the geishas-in-training, Mama P Watson as the wicked house mother, and 2000 lb. thearical powerhouse Honolulu Jenkins as the established, mean-as-snakes rival geisha to the up and coming girls. Insted of being set in 1940's urban Japan, it would be set in a 2005 flop house in Long Island City. And instead of geishas they would be outright Queens Plaza hookers. IMDB entry coming soon.
Today I look like a homeless person, and that is an insult to the homeless. Personal hygeine and "business casual" be damned. There has to be a flaming pit of despair before the Phoenix can rise from the ashes.
There is a lot going on in the news regarding Iraq, the Supreme Court and Orwellian attempts to safeguard our country, but I can't blog about that because I just don't have it in me here at the end of 2005. But I'm thinking about these things and despearately hoping that my friends here in the city take heed of the dangers of the anonymous online (and offline for that matter) hookup of which we gays are so fond.
I am fit to be tied here in the cube, as once I'm out of here I have to pick up a mysterious package from the post office and then pack for my trip tomorrow back to the Motherland, this time to that Queen City of Cities, Charloot, NC. The New Year's festivities are no doubt going to be debaucherous and filled with scandal before I turn over my new leaf in 2006. (As the Pet Shop Boys once sang, "turned over a new leaf, then tore right through it.") Suffice it to say if I see my friend Jack on the plane, I won't say, "Hi Jack!" for fear of air marshalls gunning me down on site.
Speaking of the Pet Shop Boys, I have been advocating for this for about 15 years and am having multiple orgasms over it as I type.
I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year, and remembers in 2006 that The Butch Stroll is neither here nor there, The Butch Stroll is in your heart. Peace to the mid-east mother fuckers! See you in 2K6.