Secret Agent Fred and I have also hit the gay bars in the French Quarter a couple of times this weekend. It was just more sad, sad evidence that queer bars are a dying species. Here we are, so close to Mardi Gras you have to hold your nose and the old-time gathering places that back in the dinosaur days of my youth would have been packed weren't as full as they would have been on a regular week night back then, oh so long ago.
The only bright spots were shocking Fred with what a snarky bitch with a thick Southern accent I morphed into the instant I returned to my old haunts (poor Fred. I assume listening to me evaluate the chances of some skinny drunken twinky boy must be like an evening with Tennessee Williams. Grisly.) and I found out I have a fan. Some guy at Lafitte's called out "Mrpeenee! I read your blog all the time!" Fred and I were both astonished and I was immensely gratified. The idea someone would recognize me from the pictures I post here has always seemed awfully unlikely (in real life I am a lot more glamorous and much more attractive.) I suppose the fact I had my patented vacant expression probably helped.
Anyway, I'd like to say "hey" to Mr. Lafitte's and wish that I had had the presence of mind to be friendlier. I was just too surprised to be charming. As a token of my gratitude here's some muscle pussy:
Now you know how Jacqueline Suzanne must have felt... Jx
ReplyDeleteIf only I had been wearing one of her wiglets.
DeleteI know what you mean about the dying out gay bars, Canal (anal) Street in Manchester used to be a thriving gay village, now it's been taken over by the Naffs, and those fucking stupid hen parties, where the bride and friends dress up, the bride will be wearing a tarty wedding dress with customary 'L' plates and her friends will be wearing feather boas and clutching plastic willies and cackling, oh what fun! I would like to take the bride to be and dress her up as a clown, then cut her head off and gun fuck the oozing wound, then poke the others in the eye with a poker before dowsing them in petrol and setting them alight. Perhaps then they would think twice before pointing and laughing at the transsexuals.
ReplyDeleteI tried grits once on an American cruise ship, I wasn't very struck, but I enjoyed the succotash.
Women in a queer bar are a sign you are doomed to not scoring any boy butt from there; women in a boa are a sign you should leave immediately. I think your plan is a completely solid one.
Deletehope you "signed" his autograph book.
ReplyDeleteI was so stunned, I just sort of muttered "hey" and scurried off into the night. I'm ashamed I was so unresponsive. Perhaps I'm in a coma and just don't know it.
DeleteI'll be scanning Twin Peaks for you in 5 weeks.
ReplyDeleteIt's a date.
DeleteSunday April 6th. around 9. I'll be bringing a true Scotsman.
DeleteDon't give up your pooty, honey. Your reputation is what you are born with, and what you die with.
ReplyDeleteI think you're a few decades too late.
Delete