i grew up just like every other american did in the 70’s. white, right, and proud (in that order)! like all of us, i only had two fears: 1) people of color noticing my perm and 2) innocent people dying on account of the devil making us play our records backwards.
now we’re trapped in chico marxism, just like they warned us about!
friends, i am ready to fight the ultimate fight! not at the east wing ballroom rejuvenated wing of the white house like ufc next year or anything, but for the remnant of the healthcare i pretend to have supported when obama reached across the aisle!
i know, i know. i have a gap to fill between 70’s satan and 2000’s antichrist, but patience is a virtue and so is common sense!
where was i?
right, tattoos. when the fuck did tattoos become so prevalent that we don’t even judge old ladies with 7 tattooed tits hanging around for too long like saddam hussein?
i might have a tattoo of saddam hussein with 7 tits hanging each of which represent one of david koresh’s FINISHED seals, but that doesn’t make me a supporter of hangings or saddam hussein or tits or david koresh’s shirtless vids or that i am gay.
i am not gay!
vote for me as your next senator and i’ll use all of my bigotry and misogyny to troll the president just like the other guy you’re latching on to does (chinese spy ties aside!)
my name is gaetano straightsini and i approve this message!
Of course you’re not gay (are you? Not just a little?) but if you had taken up my generous offer of dance lessons from some years ago you could credibly have passed for one of our tribe. The cha-cha and the twist were just two of my specialties. Sadly, I am now reduced to “chair dancing.”
you owe me!
For now, we will have to rely on our friendship:
I have a good Internet story. Back in Jezebel’s heyday I had lots of friends and one actually came to NYC. We palled around “off campus” and she had a musician friend. He lived in NYC but he wasn’t of NYC. Our big Holiday Open House was approaching so I invited him. He was/is gay and relatively good-looking so I thought I might be able to make a match, nosy yenta that I am:
So, the day of I welcomed the bartender and the server we had hired (everything in New York is word of mouth, especially people you hire to work in your home) and took the dog out for a walk. To my horror, when I returned, there was the friend of my Internet friend. The invite said that things would kick off at 2 PM but in NYC terms that means 3 PM at the earliest.
Beter Half was in high dudgeon. “You have online boyfriends and you dare bring them into MY APARTMENT???”
“Relax, Better Half. He’s a friend of a friend. I thought he’d like to meet X, Y, and Z. Do you think I’d sleep with him with his facial hair?”
“Well, no, of course not. Alright, have [the bartender] make him a drink. Does he drink?”
“I don’t know. I just met him once last week.”
“If it weren’t for me you’d have 17 cats, all the strays you have rescued, and the New York Post would be on you like white on rice.”
“I have a new punch recipe. I’m going to ask [X] to help me make it. See you again in a few hours.”
Well, the men come to this place
And the men are all the same
You don’t look at their faces
And you don’t ask their names
You don’t think of them as human
You don’t think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall
I’m the White House dancer
A dancer for money
I’ll do what you want me to do
I’m your White House dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do
I wanna make a trillion dollars
I get to live out by the sea
Have 34 convictions and some impeachments
Yeah, I guess I want a country
All the men come to my places
And the men are all the same
You don’t look at their faces
And you don’t ask their names