Blow Me, Hipsters

Taking the train to see Blanche D’Almonds is always a trip.  I saw a grown midget, schlubby foreign students, and a sexy hipster Jew in the station alone.  Also at the station was a group of what I assumed was college boys.  They had books out and were studying something.  One was super cute and another was fuckable.  I sat near them for a hot minute, and then a random old pervert made his move.  He started chatting them up and asked if they could help him activate his phone.  Old dude had a five dolla phone from the two dolla store.  The boys (and I say BOYS now because in the course of eavesdropping, I learned that they were HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS at a nearby Catholic boys’ school) claimed they didn’t have a phone themselves which would be needed to make the call to activate the phone.  The old perv kept talking to them, but I moved to start the line.  I made sure to be first in line because I’m ocd like that.  I saw some adorable little black girls whom I’m pretty sure were named Tia and Tamera.  Then there are the butt-ers.  I FUCKING HATE YOU.  I openly glared and judged them.  They are generally white entitled bitches from the suburbs.  They just saunter up to the front as if that’s the thing to do.  At least they didn’t try to get in front of me, because I will rape you to death with my words if you even TRY that shit with me.  I am not the one.  I’m also not the one to sit next on the train unless you are a sexy guy, then please, take a seat).  But I wanted to be left alone on my trip to Chicago today, so I placed a bag on the seat next to me, put on sunglasses, and closed my eyes.  This usually works, and it seemed to do the trick today.  Then this group of Apple-product-toting zombies boarded the train.  UGH.  OH and one of them is Australian.  What’s worse than an American hipster?  A foreign hipster.  Anyway, this group of maybe six kids randomly had a tall, muscular, sexy motherfucker in a hoodie and faux glasses, true to hipster style.  I’d hate fuck him.  They all started filling in the extra seats in my area, but thankfully left me alone.  Then before I even had the chance to put my headphones on and ignore the world, the hipster girl one seat up and one seat over turned around and indicating the unoccupied seat next to me, asked “can I sit here to be closer to my friends?”  I would normally be a pansy ass faggot and say SURE, GO AHEAD, DO YOU NEED MY SEAT TOO, I CAN MOVE!  But not today.  Oh no.  I scrunched my face into a combination of contemplation and disgust and shook my head without saying a word.  The hipsters were flabbergasted.  They couldn’t believe that someone would deny them, white privileged wannabe-alternative kids from good families in the suburbs of Chicago, ANYTHING.  The Australian said “did he just say no?”  And then I was over it.  I couldn’t deal with it anymore because I was concentrating so hard on not laughing in their faces.  Come to think of it, I should have.  But I quickly put on my headphones, looked out the window, covered my mouth with my sleeve and silently laughed my ass off.  This is a momentous day.  Not just for me, but against hipsters everywhere.  I deny you.  YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME.  I really hope I’m gassy on this train, because I would love to punish these jackasses.

Textual Intercourse

Blanche:  pretty sure this is a note to my 6th grade teacher

Blanche:  You old hag.

Blanche:  And girl it looks like a witch nose

me:  lol

me:  I wrote a horrible note about my 7th grade English

me:  She caught it

me:  Spooked me and talked to me in the hallway

me:  I peed a little

Blanche:  Oh niiice.  You are such a Shady Queen.

me:  Haha thank god she didn't see the color drawing I did of her as a fat stripper with saggy titties getting her period on the pole

Blanche:  Okrrr.

Blanche:  God I love you.

me:  I was a shady little faggot

The Cuttings Up

My my my.  I had quite the day yesterday.  The original plan was to skip on up to Chicago to see Shirley Q. Liquor with my dear friend Blanche D’Almonds.  We got tickets last week, and I could not have been more excited.  I’ve been a fan of hers for years now, and I can recite much of her work from memory. In case you don’t know, she is a drag comedian who performs in black face.  There is much controversy over her work and if it’s edgy or racist (edgy, duh, not genuinely offensive. Even Ru Paul approves.  CASE CLOSED).  Then a few days ago, I get a random email from the ticketmaster I used, informing me that the event had been canceled.  BOO!  You just know it was because some douche bag, pretentious, overly-politically correct faggot (who himself is probably of the White Devil persuasion) got his panties in a bunch.  Or her house got flooded; she is from the South, mind you.  Anysniz.  Shit got canceled (I need to remember to check that my money is actually refunded btw).  It was unfortunate, but it didn’t change my plans.

As usual I fell in love on the train to Chicago.  The tiny scrawny hipster faggot who sat behind me had me trippin.  You know I had to take secret pictures.  I am such a creeper!

Well, his mouth is already open. . .

This ginger baby was my archnemesis for two hours and forty-five minutes:

"That baby is an asshole." -Samantha Jones

We also need to talk about how I’m going to get my ass kicked if I keep talking to people the way I do.  As I was exiting the train station, four older black women were entering.  We all had huge bags.  One of them and I started to go through at the same time, and it would have been fine if the woman had moved her bag two fucking inches.  Of course she wouldn’t.  I was forced to BACK UP and let all four of these slow motherfuckers amble through the doors.  As they were going through, I said, “ya’ll are some rude-ass bitches.”  What?!?  It was true.  And they were so in my way.  They didn’t even bother to respond.  Which made me think. . . Rosa Parks probably wasn't some inspirational figure.  She was a cranky bitch who couldn't be bothered to move out of the way.

Later last night Blanche and I were talking about homeless people.  And you can tell who the crackheads are because they ask for specific amounts.  You know, how much they have left to go before they can buy a rock basically.  So of course not a few minutes later, we walk past a guy asking for thirty-five cents.  And no, I don’t think he was going to make a phone cal; pay phones don’t even exist anymore.  So he asked us, and I replied, “girl, you gotta get that rock somewhere else.”

Hello, sailor!

Blanche wanted to go cut a rug, and the International Mr. Leather conference is going on, so we could always hit that up.  Boy howdy, did we.  IML is associated with the bear and leather communities.  What it really is, is kink.  Anything kink.  Think of it like a Comic Con of gay kink.  It’s taking place at the Hyatt Regency, and if you are remotely nearby, you need to stop what you’re doing and GO.  It’s happeneng through Monday, so get on that shit.  At first glance, you could tell there was something gay going on at this hotel.  We saw some obvious queers out by the entrance (later in the day they would gather practically naked out there), and we saw more and more skin as we worked our way through the bowels of this hotel to get to the event.  Here’s one of the first glimpses of what was to come:

After checking our IDs five hundred times, we made it in.  The space is HUGE.  It’s basically a place for vendors to sell and show off their shit.  Artists were able to set up mini galleries and hawk their work.  There were live demonstrations of things, and you could always just jump in a sling to see if it would be worth the exorbitant price.  All of the vendors and many of the attendees were dressed to the NINES in their ouchfits. 

The first demonstration we saw was kind of outrageous.  A subservient person was placed in a cube that is covered in rubber through a zippered opening.  He can either leave his head out, or be completely trapped inside.  Then they vacuumed the air out, so all you saw was the form of the person inside.  IT WAS LIKE A GAY HAN SOLO IN CARBONITE.  I was floored.  Then they’d flip the cube over to show all angles.  Or if the guy’s head was still peeping out, the guy running it would make out with him.  That was the beginning of the gagging of the day. 

I wish I got a better picture of this one.  She was serving Rocky Horror military realness:

OH! I clocked her in the background of another one:

Here is an action shot of a fuck machine.  Love how you can tell it’s actually moving and thrusting?

So we walked around and looked at everything, probably twice.  And just soaked in the ambiance.  It was insane.  It was such a spectacle.  There were so many sexy guys too.  We both regretted not wearing our harnesses.  There was some bizarre shit though.  The whole medical fetish thing is not for me, thank you.  Or how about dildos that are shaped like animal cocks?  No thank you.  There was also a buffet, and you would randomly see a guy in a jockstrap getting food.  That just seems unsanitary.  

We just happened to be looking at electric stimulation devices, and the vendor approached us.  We made the mistake of telling him we weren't familiar with it.  He launched into a LONG explanation.  Revealing all kinds of scary shit.  So you put an electrode on the base of the penis and one on the head.  Then you  mess with the voltage and blah blah blah it sounds awful.  Like torture.  He told us to stay below the waist as amateurs, but he's been playing above the waist for years.  That once he could feel it in his chest and that he bruised his heart.  He has to go to the hospital, and his ECG frightened the doctors, but he never said why it was wonky.  Blanche finally jumped in, saying "okay, well we'll be back. . ." but he wouldn't let us go.  It was another 10 minutes before we could escape.

We saw this guy waiting in line for the help desk:

"Feel my tail!" There are buttplugs with animal tail attachments.

Here's a scat chair and travel rimming chairs:

These hot black dominatrices were turning it out:

Here's a little blasphemy for you

And more:

This was a lovely shirt:

At the end of the convention day, people would just hang out outside like this.  It really was something else:

This skinny guy was actually pretty cute, nevermind the rubber kilt and PIG shirt:

Star of extremely dirty porn films, John Sullivan, was heading in just as we were leaving:

Blanche, her partner, and I went to a lovely tapas restaurant in Logan Square for dinner.  We had great conversation, and I had the best scallops EVER.  Those bitches melted like butter in my mouth.  Somehow we didn't get back to their place until late late.  So Blanche and I didn't even go out until midnight.  That is unheard of for my old ass.  We went to a place called Charlie's in Boystown, and we found that it was some sort of cowboy linedancing night.  We were only there for a hot minute.  Then we made our way to Roscoe's for some real dancing.  We were having a great time, getting our groove on.  I'm usually self-conscious when I dance, but I really let loose and just enjoyed myself.  We danced with a drag queen named Michelle whose birthday was last night.  She was cute and sweet.  Then out of nowhere, Blanche grabbed some guy's face with one hand, and I had no idea what was going on.  She kissed him hello, and I was even more confused, this guy looked dumbfounded.  Then he recognized Blanche.  Turns out they were great friends back in the day and worked together, and we were JUST looking at pictures of this guy before we left.  His name was Ken, and they hadn't seen each other in six years.  He lives in New York now and just happened to be in town for a wedding.  It was a random occurrence.  But oh so welcome.  Ken is sexy.  He's a half-Japanese hot piece of sniz.  And so so sweet and funny and nice.  I kind of fell in love.  So we danced a little with him and his friend Colin before deciding to his up some place else.

We were apparently going to meet up with Colin's friends, whom he warned us were "porn stars."  That is an overused term.  The three porn actors were NOT all that, but I'll get to that later.  It was already fairly late at this point, and I guess the porn actors needed a pick-me-up (aka of COURSE they wanted to do drugs, but no one was actually saying that). We wanted to hang out with Ken more, so we went back to one of the porn guy's apartment and chatted while the other guys disappeared into a back room for a while.  Ken was just a peach and a half.  He was so sweet and physically affectionate, but not in a creepy way.  We all had to smush to fit on this couch, and he took it upon himself to lie on me, cradled between my legs.  No problem there!  After a bit, he asked if I minded.  HELL TO THE NO.  Blanche and I immediately quoted Carrie Bradshaw, saying, "I just need to feel the weight of a man!"  And I did.  What I also loved about Ken was that he was in on so much of the lingo and jokes that Blanche and I use.  Early on into meeting him, he said "OKrrrrr" in the way that Shocantelle Brown does, and I just died.  Did I also mention he had the tastiest looking ass?  Well, he did.  At one point, this drag queen named Aurora showed up.  Apparently Ken  knew her from growing up, and they got to catch up.  It was sweet.  Aurora was lovely and so nice.  When I introduced myself, she went to air kiss me, and instead of even making a kissing motion in the air, she just placed her face next to mine.  It cracked me up.  She just needed a little work on her look. . .  I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be shady.  But you know reading is fundamental, and my library is ALWAYS open.  She must have had a few pancake makeup gift certificates, because her face was beat to within an inch of its life.  And her wig was FoB.  No, not fresh off the boat.  Fresh out the bag.  She needed to run a comb through it.  You have to style your wigs, children.  You can't just place it on yo head and hope for the best.  It looked like it was just sitting on top of her head.  

Perfect Ken, Colin, and Aurora

Also in attendance was a fierce black queen.  He was great.  I wish I caught his name.  I was just looking at him thinking "I bet he makes a gorgeous woman," when it was revealed he was a drag queen.  And he proceeded to show us picture after picture of himself up in yags.  And he sure did make a hot woman.  It turns out he is int he process of applying to Ru Paul's Drag Race.  It's his third try.  And apparently he's made it pretty far into the process, so he says he has a good chance of making it.  We'll see.  She was funny and nice, but homegirl acted like she was campaigning for prom queen.

The three actors were some of the shittiest fags I've ever encountered.  I sent this text to Blanche not long before we left: "I'm reading these shitty faggots in my mind for later when we discuss."  First of all, I would not fuck a one of them.  I don't know who is paying them to have sex on camera.  I'm sorry.  It has to be said.  The one whose apartment it was, completely ignored us, which was fine.  Actually, it was how I preferred it.  He was terrible, and I was grateful not to have to deal with him.  He had an adorable tiny dog that clearly did not get enough attention:

So he was awful, and when his friends left without his noticing, five minutes later, he got so pissed.  He was all coked out and wild and so offended that they left.  It was not a big deal.  The club was five minutes away, just go meet your friends.  He tried to get Aurora riled up, and she was like "what's the big deal?"  He insisted that no one could treat them like that.  UGh.  Eyeroll, just shut the fuck up.  Oh, Aurora had a hilarious moment that only the black queen and I noticed.  She was looking for a picture on her phone, which wasn't cooperating.  Then she pulled some bootleg shit and KNOCKED on her phone to get it to function.  Maybe you had to be there. . .  and then I got raped.  That's Blanche's and my new way to cap stories where we are losing our audience.  Whatever the situation, just end it with "and then I got raped."  ANYWAY.  Another actor had a short beard, and he was cute in the face, but the rest of him was crazy.  He had insnae proportions.  His upper body was so ripped and muscular, but his mid-torso down was super super skinny.  Anorexic skinny.  Scrawny chicken legs.  And he walked the way that guys do who want to look all muscular.  But that combined with a gay swish resulted in a very awkward strut.  He bent down to play with the dog at one point, and his shirt lifted up to reveal what I thought was another shirt.  It had such a weird line down the middle of his back that I had to look closely.  It wasn't a shirt, it was his scrawny ass spine.  Bitch was anorexic from the belly button down and roided out above that.  It was bizarre.

Then there was the last one.  He just looked like a douche.  He carried himself that way.  The tan and the big tacky diamond earrings didn't help.  Whilst reading them with Blanche afterward, I had to describe him in great detail before Blanche remembered who he was.  As I said he was  "forgettable.  So forgettable."  

So we finally all parted ways, and Blanche and I headed back to her place to get ready for bed and have a chat.  We had some great heart-to-hearts during my visit, and she gets me in a way that no one else does.  I can really let my fag flag fly with her.  She's truly a great friend, and our little visits recharge me.  I can't wait to see what other misadventures we'll get into.

We saw so many trannies and drag queens on the way back to his place, so you know I was pleased.  There was one busted black tranny with a BAD blonde braided weave who cracked us up.  We all crossed the street, and a taxi came close to us, waiting to turn.  "SLOW DOWN, HONDA!  Slow down, muthafucka, this shit is serious."  It was a lovely cap to a lovely evening.

I did learn on new thing.  Apparently it's the L.A. equivalent of saying "girl."  We already shorten it to "gir," but now it's "gra."  Kind of like bro gets changed to bra.  It's hard to explain how to say it, but you have to put your diaphragm into it and really exhale when you say it and let it drop off.

Here's one last image for your nerves.  Blanche and I made some small purchases at IML, each of us getting leather cock rings.  You know, just a little cock bling.  We immediately put them on as bracelets and wore them that way the rest of the night.  No one spooked us on it.

Textual Intercourse

The brand is half the battle.  But you'll never get Blanche's secrets from me.   Better chance of tricking me out of my bag of Jew gold

Blanche D'Almonds, of the Manhattan D'Almonds, was giving me tips on how to make the perfect matzo balls.  And if anyone knows balls, it's her.  Like most things that happen to me, this ends up being funny.  And a little racist.

me:  got damn I love that shit.  never made it though

blanche:  i really do too. really? so easy but there are a few tricks naturally.

blanche: Jews love tricks.

blanche:  but i don't have to tell you.

me: that was fantastic

blanche:  faggots love stunts

blanche:  so i would stay on your good side.

blanche:  I don't need some tricky stunt.

me:  Tricky Jewfaggot stunts

me:  I'm full of them

blanche:  Lord

blanche:  No

blanche:  I'll be nice

Textual Intercourse

Blanche: good old American gay sex

me: America: apple pie and buttsex

Blanche: yes child

----
me: you could be a rapper with all that cash

me: you could be a farmer in those clothes

Blanche: I am a farmer

me: Ass farmer

me: bc your ass gets plowed!

Textual Intercourse

me: some wig store in Chicago was broken into and 70 to 90 k of extensions were stolen

me:  You do that?

blanche: You are the second fag to axe me that :)

me: HA

blanche:  I have an alibi

me:  You were douching right?

blanche:  I wasn't stealing I was mopping.

blanche:  I was trimming the hair on my balls.

Textual Intercourse

Amen, indeed, sister

I filled Blanche in on my latest conquest, an Asian gym rat with SEVERE bro-itis. There was an eye-rolling moment that perhaps can wait until you hear it on the podcast (second episode recorded! but it won't contain this breaking news).  So we shared our secret love of gym shorts on a guy and pinky swore never to tell anyone.  Oops. 

Blanche: I am a SUCKER for the gym shorts yo

Me:  Yeah I hate myself for it

Blanche:  If you can't hate yourself a little, how the hell are you gonna blow a frat boy?

Blanche:  Can I get a amen in here?

Me:  AMEN

Blanche:  I used to love campus as a kid. They seemed so grown up.  Now they are chirruns

Me:  I know.  I keep getting older but their hot asses stay the same age

Blanche:  Alright alright alright.

Textual Intercourse

for some reason this came up in a search for "nude on couch"

We got off early from work today due to the weather. My friend Blanche knew just what I would do. . .


Blanche: at least you're home at 2:30 on a Tuesday. Take off your panties and relax, gurl

me: i'm sitting naked on my couch!

me: i took my tuck out and errything

Blanche: of course you are dear

A Lovely Little Jaunt

I spent the weekend in Chicago visiting my dear kindred spirit Blanche. We went to high school together, but I didn't know her very well then. We started reconnecting this year, and I am so so grateful for it. She is a peach and a half and makes the world a brighter place. I took the train up, and you know how well that went. I stayed with her and her husband, and met Judy and Jim: also peaches.

We kikied for hours, and Blanche made us homemade pasta. A regular Martha Stewart, that one. She puts Ina Garten to shame. Bitch keeps a TIGHT household.

We headed to a club to see the wonderful Pandora Boxx perform. She was supposed to go on at 12, but there we were, milling around the place, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Drag performers are notorious for their tardiness, so we thought nothing of it and busied ourselves with the goings on around us. Ooooh there was some shit. As expected, there was a plethora of shitty faggots. A few of them cute. Not many great looks, but oh well. It may have been cool outside, but it was HOT in there. One gay really committed to his whatever looks in the cardigan and beanie. I hope he had a heat stroke. There were SO many girls too. I'm not used to that at a gay club. And tons of lesbians too. As evidenced here:



I was a little shy about taking pictures, but then I thought, what the fuck? I don't know these bitches and probably won't see them ever again. Also seen: the trashiest skank ever. She had ratty Britney hair, raccoon eye makeup, a ruffle denim micro-skirt, and some kind of Ugg BOOTS WITH THE FUR. I didn't get a good picture of her unfortunately.

There were two go-go boys, which was a new experience for me. One was really muscled and meh in the face. The other was adorable and had a sexy scar on his midsection. He was still a shitty, shitty faggot. Look, even at my sexiest and lowest-self-esteemiest, I would never have danced on the bar in my underwear for money--and I've done some crazy shit in my twenty. . . one years. What really killed me was his Santa's little helper look. His red underwear was attached to red suspenders. The pièce de damn résistance that brought it all together was the mark of a crummy faggot: FLIP-FLOPS. Yes, boy was shaking his ass on the bar for dollars in flip-flops. I didn't want to be attracted to him, and at first I was determined. He won me over though. That mop of hair gave him a boyish cuteness, and he really did have a nice ass. We decided, however, that he was stuffing his underwear. Oh well. I still wanted to hate fuck him:



We witnessed a great scene through the window. There was a party trolley filled with all kinds of wasted people dancing and carrying on. There was one kid who had obviously started the party early, and he was swaying in his seat, chugging water from a giant jug. Luckily the traffic light was long enough for us all to observe. Some drunk buddy talked to him for a moment, and the kid drank more water, swaying the whole time. He gagged and fought the urge to vomit. This continued for what felt like a long time, but must have been only 45 seconds. It was a game, and I was really hoping he would puke before the trolley took off. He heaved more and more, and finally he threw up! All of us watching in the club cheered and laughed as the kid spewed onto the street. Fantastically hilarious.

None of us had ever been to that particular venue before, so we didn't know there was also a giant basement, which was apparently where the performance was. By the time we wised up, we had missed the first set. Oh well, we saw enough to gag us. The opener, Jade (also from RuPaul's Drag Race) was great. She did a ballet number while lipsynching, and she was really on point. And en pointe. Pandora was her usually goofy self, and she delivered. She performed to what is becoming her signature song:

Super Pussy Smash

This truly is the best drag queen entrance I've ever seen. I want to thank my friend Blanche D'Almonds:



She really opened my eyes to some wonderful things this weekend, and I'll get into more in later posts. Right now it's about a performance you MUST watch:




BOOM. OVARIES. I also appreciate the high kick into death drop move. As Mrs. D'Almonds pointed out a comment to me, "her wig is pinned for LIFE." Yes, girl. Yes it is.