Sunday, July 29, 2012

Well, That's Five Years We'll Never Get Back

I know I was supposed to be putting up a post all about my blog birthday (Happy Five to me, bitches!) but I’ve been distracted by eating nectarines, cause it’s July and you need to roll with them while you got ‘em, am I right?  But finally the one I had this afternoon delivered the tender and tart deliciousness of a door knob, so I realized it’s time to move on.

So with that, let’s raise the curtain on

mrpeenee’s Fifth Anniversary Dragapalooza: Cinco or Swim!

Star of stars, mrpeenee will be hosting as that darling of the oppressed 99.9%, Pepper Spray.  I will, of course, be performing my signature number Police on My Back.  I know I probably shouldn’t be setting the bar so high at my own party, but with talent like mine, what can I do?

Here’s a publicity still from latest picture, Gidget Occupies Malibu.  Maybe hasn’t opened in  whatever unimportant cow town you’re reading this in, but when you get the chance to buy it (not rent or pirate, you cheap bitch) I’m sure you’ll be dazzled by my work.

Our cast this evening is all the vixens and viragos of mrpeenee’s frequent commentors and what a mixed bag (so to speak) those lazy cows are:

Clutter from the Gutter’s own Mitzi offers up (“with a shy giggle that sounds like a cascade of silver bells my entry for your jubilee, and long may you reign!”)
 Petula Plenty was  just a common prostitute in Piccadilly, London, before making it big as a Shirley Bassey impersonator. The streets weren’t paying enough, and the draft up her skirt brought her out in a terrible rash, and the anitbiotics weren’t working, so in 1995 she got up on the stage at The Vauxhall Tavern in London, dressed as a magician’s moll and sang her little heart out. The audience loved her. 
The rest, as they say, is history. Her incredible debut album ‘Tits On Fire’  won her four Brits and countless other awards, she even knocked Madonna off the number 1 spot in several countries world wide.
Songs on the album include: Simply The Breast -  by Tina Turner;  Knocker Three Times - by Dawn;  Mammary Mia - By Abba;  Radio Bra Bra - by Queen;  Always On My Tits - by Elvis plus many many more.
Petula Plenty facts: Chris Rea couldn’t afford the real Shirley Bassey for his 1996 film soundtrack La Passione so he used Petula Plenty instead.
Affectionately known as  ‘Pet’ gay men worship her, believing her to have supernatural powers.

Mitzi gets her own dressing room, because she is a star and not because everyone else is afraid of what may be hiding in her bag.  Or not only.

Designing Wally reveals
My drag name: Kit Encaboodle...
My song for you:  Missing Persons- I Like boys:
xoxox, Gary
PSsst!  Boys like me, too....
What, you mean boys as opposed to possums?  Darling Wally can be so obscure sometimes, you know?

Blogging Sinsation Jason, from Night is Half Gone, wants us to know
 here’s my inner temptress...well, one of them: Miss Vaseline McCooter
I’m planning to bring a positive, affirming message to this contest, unlike these other trifling bitches. 
And of course, I’ll be singing Shirley Brown’s classic Woman to Woman 
Because cooterhood is powerful. And so is that mop Jason is working.

NormaDesmond arrives late, as is appropriate for a Big Star (also cause the bitch didn't send anything in, so I made this up for her.  As I told the old thing "NORMA FUCKING DESMOND needs to be in this show."  Anyone disagree?  Shut up and sit back down.)

Norma will be playing Gloria Swanson playing Norma playing a washed up silent star playing that paragon of glamour and crazy: Norma Desmond.  I think I got lost somewhere in there, but so did she and at least I'm not burying a monkey in the back yard.  Norma considered and discarded all the sad, sad songs from that big mess Sunset Boulevard, the Musical and instead will be selling her famous one-woman duet - Crazy by Patsy Cline, and Crazy by Gnarls Barkley, and Crazy by Seal after which mrpeenee will shoot her with a tranquilizer dart gun.  It's a big number.

Another late entry is our most beloved Muscato, rising from her hospital bed to assay her alter ego, legendary Finnish diva Mme. Watta-Setta Nakkers, with her internationally acclaimed rendition of the beloved "Flower Duet" from Lakmé, in which she plays the musical saw for the mezzo line. 
As an encore, she and her trusty metal pal tackle "Nowadays" from Chicago (her tap break will take your breath away. Literally). 

So good of dear Muscaato to bring a bit of elegance to this tawdry evening.  She has such tone, don't you think?

Mistress Borghese flies in with
Now honey, rest assure, us bitches will come through, it is just tough to get the damn lead out!!!! Now for my photo selection, I'll use my own drag name the Mistress Borghese, and my own drag persona. As I tend to be quite the temptress, in one of my favorite impresontations of the fabulous Carmen Miranda. For my number I’ll do a lively rendition of the stunning and lavish performance to  CHICA CHICA BOOM CHIC!  I just hope I can keep all my orbs from falling out this time! 
I’m sure all of us are relieved to read that the dear Mistress is the sumptuous fruit bowl and not the undead sea hag lurking in the corner.  One just never knows. 

Jon (aka Dolores Delargo Towers) provides us with an interpretive art piece of his dragness

for a better look:
He continues: A “drag name” I came up with many moons ago - I would have to be Pyroclastic Flo!
And the song? Samy K feat. Diva Avari - Fucking Bitch, of course
 (ed. note: Darlings, you need to go see this.  it's summin.)
I look forward to the show!!

How sweet, dear.  I do, too, if I can ever get through this goddam cut and paste marathon.

The always elusive  (I just typed that as “ewlisive,” but that was a mistake.  Honest) Anonymous,too let’s us know 

Yup, my inner drag queen goes beyond fierce, right through ferocious, to downright dangerous.  I think the drag name would have to be Annie Muss.  The song?  The Rolling Stones’ “Bitch”, or maybe Sir Elton’s “The Bitch is Back.”
Did you think to have Trekkiedrag on the stage?  Pretty certainly not, but that’s the beauty of Cinco or Swim: something for everyone.  And somethings for no one.

Ask the Cool Cookie, god love her, interrupts a transcontinental move to send us this
Here’s how I see myself on stage :  Miss Gypsy Rose Lee, being coy.
 And I would be fucking FABULOUS, and family friendly.
Yes dear, whatever you say.  In a scary sort of way.

Our Bold Soul Sister, Ms FirstNations, assures us she will take the stage as  “Yomama BinLoggin” and will wow whatever audience still remains with Aretha Franklin’s Respect

Do you ever find Ms FirstNations the teensiest. tiniest bit scary?  Like maybe you'd go out for a quick drink with her and wake up in some trailer park in another state in a tub of ice?  Yeah, me too.  And I say that in the most loving manner possible.  Don't hurt me.

Our most beloved Thombeau of Planet Fabulon, the Redundant Variety Hour and points west will be pitching cleanup and sassily claims:
“Here I am as Trampe L’Oeil, international temptress. No lip-sync for moi! Basically all I do is the can-can until I become dizzy and collapse into a sweaty, drunken heap, babbling incoherently. Works every time! Of course, I rarely do drag anymore, but can often be found flouncing around the rest home, as is my way...”


Anyone surprised should raise their hand now.  No one?  No, I thought not.

And with that we’ll be ringing down the curtains, wild acclaim showering down on us all as we scrabble madly for whatever stray pharmas we can dig out of Thombeau’s bag.  Cause it’s not just mrpeenee’s drag show.  It’s my goddam party.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Old Dear, Part Two

Darlings, I'm working on my mrpeenee's Fifth Anniversary Gala Dragaplooza: Cinco or Swim, but first just a quick note about how terribly amusing it was to have my dear old sistah in the house.  We were immensely cultured, hitting three museums: the Man Ray/Lee Miler show (so-so, actually bordering on dull,) the Jean Paul Gaultier show (tremendously fabulous) and the Cindy Sherman retrospective (even more tremendously fabulous.)  We also embraced our true low brows by thrashing a number of thrift stores.  I am proudly sitting in a only-slightly-rickety desk chair we snagged for $7.40. While at a rather upscale venue called, simply, Stuff, I was sucked into the groove of the sound system's Aretha Franklin Rock Steady.  I spun around from a particularly hip shakin' bit and came face to face with the owner who seemed sort of stunned, as people so often are when exposed to my dancing.  And did that faze Magda?  No it did not.

Truly, it was a wonderful time and I fully expect my enhanced, exaggerated Southern accent to calm back down soon, now that the old dear isn't around to egg it on.

Bless her.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Old Dears

I happen to know the bodice on that titian haired temptress  is relying heavily on staples.
Sweeties, mrpeenee will be distracted over the next few days as I pay host to our dearest, oldest friend, Rich, aka Rikee, aka the Felonious Tart, aka Magda visiting from New Orleans.  We have been friends so long, I don't even remember why I refer to him as Magda.   I believe it has something to do with tambourines, but then so many things do, don't they?

One long ago Mardi Gras, he watched over me while I was so loaded I was unable to do anything except lie on the floor of my bathroom, tripping, tripping, tripping.  At least, he did until he went out for a drink, but he came back.  And isn't that the mark of a true friend?

We always used to make jokes to each other about winding up being old ladies together and now, here we are. My, my, my.  Could be worse.  Could be dead.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Get to Work, Slacker

Now I understand why MJ includes all those bitchy, nagging, hectoring posts leading up to her contests, it's because you lazy slags will not follow a few simple instructions.  To wit: find some photo  of your drag self and send it, along with your drag name and your big number, to mr pee nee at  (take the spaces out, silly.) by July 24 in order to participate in our anniversary virtual drag show.

Is that asking too much bitches?  So far, only Jason and anonymous,too have come across and mummy is starting to feel a teensy bit annoyed, so get on it.  Do not think that I will fail to replace you with some  deluded queen with plump tits mincing about dressed like a bird to the swelling strains of Tosca because I will if I have to.  Although she does seem like she could be some serious high maintenance.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Soon We Will be Five

Yes, it's true, in a couple of weeks, my blog will be five years old.  I am no less amazed than you are horrified.

In honor of the event, I'm planning a virtual drag show and wanted to invite all you, my little minions,  to showcase your talents, however slight they may be.  Freely swiping an idea of MJ, I'm putting together a contest.  All you have to do is troll the internet for some photo (headshot, action shot, glamour shot, mugshot, it doesn't matter) that really shows your inner temptress and send it, along with your drag name and whatever top tune you'll be butchering to mr pee nee at  (take the spaces out, silly.) by July 24.

You go girl.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Something Wrong with Strippin'?

Magic Mike.  Hmmm.  Put me down as a firm "It wasn't awful."  Nobody embarrassed themselves. Tatum Channing was sort of adorable.  I had assumed the music would be pretty rockin', rocktastic, in fact, but no such luck.  It's Raining Men is the only thing I can remember and that's not much of a highlight.  Tampa looked like Tampa; make of that what you will.

And the stripping?  Considering the quality of meat they had to work with, especially considering that, it was amazingly dull.
I think you need to approach the fleshy arts with a certain amount of lechery to have them work and that was missing here.  The filmmakers might not have been actually embarrassed by it all, but they certainly didn't seem to relish the sight of Matt Bomer in a thong, either.
They seemed sort of resigned, let's-just-get-this-unfortunate-business-out-of-the-way-shall-we?

When Joe Manganiello hits the stage after working up with a vacuum cock pump, I want to not only see the results, I want to linger on them.  Instead, we get a fireman costume that would have passed muster on the Disney channel.

To put this in perspective, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter was showing at the same theater and as we left, I wished we had gone to see that instead.  How's that for a review?

Monday, July 2, 2012


Who knew?

In other queer happenings (or mo mo news, as it were,) Secret Agent Fred, the Fashion Sensation and I are all going to see Magic Mike, a biopic ripped from the headlines about the lives and loves, the laffs and heartaches of stripperboys, starring Joe Manganiello's titties.

Amazingly, Fred had heard nothing of this epic until Sunday at brunch, but once we had filled him in on the details (i.e. Joe Manganiello's titties,) he was enthusiastically on board.  I'll report back as soon as I can get my lap back under the keyboard.

In Which We're Calling It In

In the middle of an unnecessarily annoying and complicated day last week, my phone decided to commit suicide. I was Ubering along playing Ya...