I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
Today I wish to discuss Celion Dion. Not the fact that she is looking more manly than a bad tranny, or the fact that she really is shite but I want to discuss what could possibly happen to a group of people that could see them digress from piley-ons to legging parades to Celion Dion. I have two words that could help explain this unfortunate Celion Dion kareoke. J-Bo and Vodka. NB I am aware that this does not excuse this nasty event. I don’t think the vodka needs much explanation so let’s look at J-Bo in the equation of things gone bad. J-Bo. For any of you that have read my blog for any length of time (more particularly last year when J-Bo shenanigans reached their peak) you will know all about J-Bo. J-Bo is a unique character who can liven up any party with her ability to be the most amusing person in history and of course for the amazing tricks she can perform with her thong (yowser). For a while we even thought about hiring her out for a small fee (i.e vodka). A party is not a party without our Bo but she always manages to embroil us in something that we would not otherwise do. And so, last week’s incident involved Celion Dion. I thought we were quite a cool bunch of freaks and even the geekier of us would never usually be caught singing (a term I use very loosely) to the likes of C.D. I’d rather be caught friggin off that butch with the lisp and the gammy leg. But with a J Bo around something seems to happen to people, something takea over their minds and bodies when they least expect it. There we were, happily jumping around to Gay Bar when a flick of a switch later and we are huddled in power ballad poses clutching plastic flowers and performing renditions of C.D songs, which will remain nameless, to our large open window with a mooner or ten thrown in for even more sorry luck. My throat still bears the evidence of our tuneless gagging. This went on for about an hour and as suddenly as it started, the sofa bed was rolled out and J-Bo was tucked up in her lilac checkered pyjamas and snoring almost as loudly as she farts and the rest of us were left limply holding our faux flowers and looking around us, confused, not quite knowing what had just happened. I still can’t work it out. I don’t know how we got from jumping on the quiet crowd who were bunched on the sofa sipping wine and not slobbering like the rest of us to croning to that hag whose face has fallen so drastically she kisses the ground with each step. I just don’t get it. Maybe I don’t want to because it will mean admitting that we all knew every word and it will also mean considering why we had a CD like that in the home in the first place…
Sealion aside, there is something else I must get off my expanding chest. Apples. Apples are like crisps in that they should be banned from public consumption. Especially at nine in the morning and especially when you are sitting that close to my face. Yes you may be super healthy but please find a quiet corner to do munch so expertly. No one needs to hear what sounds like you gathering flem from the back of your throat in the name of your fit body. Its sick and very wrong. Like my good self.
Bye now, be sure to write. Nine comments from nine people is surely a record! And now I can be sure to suffer and get none.
And what do we have here? Miss Dushku in her own series? Oh Yes though no doubt we will have to wait years to see it over here.
Until then I will make do with the series blog and the fan website.
10/31/2003 02:57:00 PM
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