LA PRIDE BLOW-OUT!

So after DJ'ing until 1:00 AM I had a 6:00 pick-up for a 7:00 flight to LA to perform at their Pride that day at 3:30! Of course, they lost my bag with my costume in it and since I didn't want to cut a hole in the middle of one of Sofitel's bedspreads and wear it as a poncho with a hotel towel turban, I waited at the airport for 2 more flights and it finally arrived. In my bitter exhaustion I was cheered to learn that the same driver would be picking up nuyorican latin-soul goddess La India and Brad Pitt later that day! Rushed to the hotel and flew into drag praising the energizing powers of Red Bull. The overcast, humid day blossomed into LA sunshine right before I went on so my Larry LeGaspi disco ball titty ensemble sparkled aplenty and the crowd went nuts. Then I hit the crowd hawking my new comedy dvd and sold quite a stack, thanks to Whorey Corey and my friend/puerto rican cutie Angel. Everyone was wanting to pose with me for a picture so finally, as it was distracting me from my sales, I started holding up the dvd--which has my photo on it--saying "THE PICTURE'S RIGHT HERE! $20!"

It was nice to finally meet LA queen Momma--she works for Bob Mackie and had some FLAWLESS gowns--and see Allana from the group Superstar. Oh, and the hilariously evil columnist Billy Masters who always gets the best dirt. Also on the bill were Maxine Nightingale, who is still a fox and does a cute medley of disco era hits including her own RIGHT BACK WHERE WE STARTED FROM and LEAD ME ON. I did not stay for Tiffany, but then again, I never liked her back in the 80's. Or was it Deborah Gibson? What's the difference--they're both crap. And speaking of crap, why does anyone care about fucking Lindsay Lohan's weight loss? Are we really that mindless in this country that we'd consider this newsworthy? I wish Lindsay, Paris, Britney and all the other bimbo-as-star hype machines would develop anorexia and wither away into nothingness. Can we focus on someone with talent? Paris was the grand marshall of the LA Pride Parade. YUCCH!

I should be fair. Deborah Gibson has some talent. She can sing. But she has an identity crisis. Is she a pop tart, a Broadway star or a pin-up? When I caught her act in Atlanta last Xmas she performed a mixed set of her pop trash with Broadway hits in a J-Lo-ish fedora and jeans. I'm sorry, pet, but LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU is NEVER to be performed in jeans. She recently posed for Playboy and came out with a cros-promotional song called NAKED. But she's singing the pop song with a Broadway-style vibrato which makes no sense whatsoever. Did pulling her tit out sell records for Janet Jackson? No, and I doubt if Debbie splaying her cunt out in Playboy will help sell NAKED.