November 30, 2005


This would make a great gift for Laura Bush--she loves shit so much she married it.


November 29, 2005


I love this holiday and wanted to take a minute to reflect on why. It's not connected with any religion, and anyone from muslim jihadist suicide bomber to "Dominionist" christian--that's the hateful kind George W is--has something to be thankful for. And we all take some of them for granted so they deserve a day of appreciation for even the small things.

And of course I love Thanksgiving's menu. I went to a pot luck at Willie Ninja's home in Flushing, Queens (humming that great theme song from THE NANNY) and made my mom Lady Becky's famous cornbread stuffing. Like a fool, I waited until the day of to shop for ingredients, and went into shock when I realized that no grocery in my area had Jiffy brand corn muffin mix, which makes this holiday comfort food extra sweet. And every dish from the cranberry sauce to the yams has to be a dessert on Thanksgiving! I ain't one for a savory stuffing. So I prepared the 4 boxes I had and went on a hunt for more, which I finally found by London Terrace in Chelsea. As a testament to the delicious taste of the mix, several mice were enjoying the batter made from the first 4 boxes by the time I returned. I chuckled heartily and shooed them away with a cheery wink only to realize that I was out of Crisco. (Don't ask why!) What to use as shortnin'? Here's a reason to give thanks--I remembered those 6 dozen promotional LOGO TV chapsticks and just scooped them right out of the tubes. Worked great. By the time I realized I was out of eggs, every store was closed. Fretting all the way home, I heard a familiar cooing sound from the garden in my back courtyard. I peeked back and a pigeon was nervously keeping her eggs warm. Sorry, mama, but I gots stuffin' ta make! And Martha Stewart couldn't give ya a tip like this: if you ever run out of sage, a tablespoon of poppers (brown bottle) has a similar aromatic flavor!

So to take a break from my usual bitterness, there's quite a few things I'm thankful for..............................................................................................uh, unfortunately a good memory ain't one of 'em!

1. I'm thankful that I'm self-employed. Yeah, sometimes I wanna fire myself, but if I don't feel like posting a fucking Thanksgiving entry until a week later, I don't have to, dammit!

2. I'm thankful for the recession of my hemorrhoids. They had really blown up and were quite long at one point. I wear short minis and I was sick of braiding and tucking them. Talk about 'rhoid rage!

3 I'm thankful for delightful neighbors. I see Nicky and her husband Sean daily outside their restaurant Tea and Sympathy (or their fish and chip shop A Salt and Battery--get it? I ain't never been in there cuz I don't need a fuckin' fried fish emporium on my block which also stocks deepfried, battered Mars bars?!?!? But they are both hialrious and stop me daily with a salty joke or fiery political update. Neighbor Sandra Bernhard finally recognized me in my day look and came up for a chat. Another neighbor mans a nearby store and pulls his extremely thick cock out on occasion--usually on a day shortly after I've dyed my eyelashes. I have a very special thanks I'm saving for him. We love a horny, young, horse-hung neighbor! And we don't exactly frown on an old one!

4. I am VERY thankful that I have completed my dvd RATED X: FOR XTRA-RETARDED!). You may now view the trailer:


Watch it or die instantly. Flotilla DeBarge did the voiceover for it and she really nailed that "Chitlins Circuit" 70's comedy album-style vibe! My PayPal account will be set up in a day or so, so you can actually buy it if you like whatcha see! Making the dvd was hard work, but very fun, and I learned a lot about video editing.

5.I will also be finally sending out my SHE-MAIL NEWSLETTER, so sign up quickly on my home-page or you'll miss it. If you read my blog regularly, many items will be familiar to you, but if you don't, then you probably aren't sifting through this dull, self-congratulatory bullshit Thanksgiving/self-promotionary blog post! Hee hee!

6. I am VERY thankful that you guys keep my blog going with your comments during the few times I haven't had time to post anything. I've laughed out loud at some of your insanity. Some of y'all wronger than I is!

7. I'm glad I've reconnected with Miss RuPaul. She's asked me to do a cameo in her upcoming guerilla-style film--she's playing the gorilla, not ME! I also interviewed Miss "Sashay Shante" for my next Genre article and she gives very good interview. We had a great chemistry and hopefully Genre won't edit out too much of the filth. Speaking of Filth, DO NOT MISS my interview in the next issue of Linda Simpson's fabled 'zine MY COMRADE. This whore is too hilarious!!!!! Remind me to kill her. But wait until after her Xmas shows in NYC--more on that later but they always sell out!

8. I haven't written many political posts lately, because I basically agree with Mr. Fish (see Mr. Fish's genius post below). Now that even republicans are doubting the war and a new scandal brands another top republican every damn day, it seems like the peaceniks are finally being vindicated. I am very sorry that it took the country so long to question something as ugly as the Iraq war, but at least they're doing it now. In defense of America's slow realization of what a sham the war is, the republicans have very effective brain-washing techniques which encompass every news channel and a lot of pulpits. I am disheartened to think that gas prices, as I suspect, are one of the main reasons people starting questioning this administration's effectiveness. But looking on the bright side, if I'm correct, maybe highest-ever heating bills this winter will really rile us up against Bush.

I have to believe that if the brainwashing techniques weren't in effect, the average person would be horrified to learn of the falsified evidence, torture, and true motives of our government. Maybe I'm dreamin' in my liberal NYC bubble, but surely evangelicals themselves have been discredited to some extent, with their ridiculous pronouncements like "Assassinate Chavez!" and "Ellen DeGeneres the dyke caused Katrina!" No matter what the extent of peaceniks victory, some shift has thankfully occurred and republican-hunting season is ON. Hallelujah!

So I'll keep up the outrage after my moment of thanksgiving. But it's so rewarding to bask in it for a sec after years of shouting WHY CAN'T THEY FUCKING SEE??? Many are still so blind. One man who was interviewed on CNN had lost his son in Iraq. The dad was pro-war, the son anti-war, but he went to serve anyway. The father's take on Iraq after he'd lost his son? "I don't want to feel that my son died in vain, so we need to stay and finish the job."

a) He did die in vain.

b) Name the fucking job he died for, you idiot! Name it! What is it? You'd give up your son's life for something you can't even comprehend, something which was based on lies, and which was poorly planned! Wow! You're in such deep denial and your desire to "feel" your son's life wasn't wasted is preventing your head from accepting the sad truth. You and your attitude and your elected officials and your tax dollars KILLED HIM. And Cindy Sheehan's son. And countless others, American and Iraqi. Anyone's murder is wrong--must I kill you to make you understand? You are a murderer, more intent on defending some faulty, incomprehensible principle than protecting your own kin. Too bad you probably don't believe in Darwin's theory of evolution because your lack of survival instincts will probably extinct your ass.


Oh yeah! And

9. At least my toilet's inside my apartment.



Try Hetracil! Please visit this unbelievable site and check out Disease Information--betcha didn't even know ya had it!--and FAQ's including this one.

I just started treatment for my Homosexuality with HETRACIL. How long should it take for HETRACIL to start working?

The first goal of treatment is to relieve the symptoms of Homosexuality that are disrupting your life. Symptom relief usually takes a few weeks, although some symptoms may improve during the first week of treatment. It may take 8 or more weeks to experience the full benefits of treatment with HETRACIL. Be sure to discuss how you are feeling with your doctor throughout your treatment.
You should know that the recommended length of treatment with an anti-effeminate is 6 to 12 months, because one of the long-term goals of treatment is to keep Homosexuality from troubling you again.

If you are prescribed HETRACIL for the treatment of Homosexuality, your doctor will monitor your progress and work with you to determine the appropriate length of your treatment.

I'm sorry to say that this does not appear to be a joke site. How can a drug like this be approved?

Possible Hetracil prescription scenario:

Doctor: Frances, that wrist's still a little limp.

Patient: Yeth, doctor.

Doctor: And that lisp. I'll just go and get my glove for the rectal exam.

Patient: Oh goody!

Doctor: Maybe I'd better double your dosage. But cut back if you find people wincing at the firmness of your handshake, or if you start feeling the urge to wear tri-colored medieval jester hats made of polar fleece to the game. Or spitting on the sidewalk. Or raping women. Or joining the army.



gayrepublican said...

The only losers are those against the President. Everyone saw the same intelligence including John Scary, I mean Kerry. He voted in favor of the war. To leave Iraq now would be irresponsible. You should thank God for a president like George Bush. I know I sleep better at night knowing we're safer and better off than we would have been if a Democrat were in office. God Bless America!

Dear Gay Republican, I agree with you that Kerry's a little scary looking. And I HATE that democratss voted for the war. But for you to attach godliness to a butcher like W at a time when even republicans are turning against this war is ludicrous. (Remember THOU SHALT NOT KILL?) Almost as ludicrous as proudly supporting a party which hates you and your kind, which puts you right up there with the jewish nazis and the black KKK members. You're sleeping, alright. God Bless Stupidity!

November 28, 2005




WACO, Texas, Nov. 28 (UPI) -- Police in Waco, Texas, on Monday were investigating the weekend mauling death of a 76-year-old woman by six pit bull-Rottweiler-mix dogs in her front yard.

Lillian Stiles, 76, was on her riding lawn mower Saturday afternoon when the dogs attacked her, the Waco Tribune-Herald reported Monday.

Passing motorists spotted Stiles lying on the ground with the dogs around her, said Greg Kouba, Milam County Sheriff's Office investigator. One of the passers-by tried to help Stiles but was bitten on his right leg by a dog, he said.

At some point, Stiles' husband shot and killed one of the dogs as rescuers were on their way. Firefighters found the dogs about 500 yards away at the home of a neighbor who owns the dogs, which were taken to a veterinary clinic to be examined for diseases, the report said.

The woman's body was covered with severe bites and she was pronounced dead the scene. An autopsy was scheduled for Monday.

ISN'T THIS HORRIBLE? When are people going to realize what monsters these things are? But they are still considered cool, even de riguer among the hip-hop set. There's even an new rapper named Pitbull whose posters are plastered all over Manhattan.

As if we need ignorant, savage, unpredictable murderering dogs from Texas attacking and killing needlessly in the streets. We've already got one of those in the fucking White House!


Check out this homoerotic calendar: CALENDARPRIESTS

November 27, 2005



from newsletter/ The Sun

"It took about ten minutes and there was quite a lot of pain. The cutters were
blunt so I had to keep snipping." (The Sun)

31 year old Welsh rugby fan Geoffrey Huish recalls severing his testicles with
wire-cutters, to fulfil a promise he gave mates that he'd cut off his balls if
Wales beat England (they won 11-9).


Gives good gossip.

>> Sorry seems to be the hardest word <<
Woman kills son for listening to Elton

Britain’s papers have been full of the sad
tale of a mother who murdered her Down's
Syndrome son, after caring for him full-
time for 36 years.

So what was the final straw for the
exasperated mother?

"Patrick had spent the entire day listening
to the same Elton John CD, shouting the
word 'Elton' repeatedly."

>> Doggy Style <<
The week's top animal-lovers

1. Huddersfield man Martin Hoyle was spotted
by a passing motorist having sex with a
Staffordshire bull terrier called Badger.
Hoyle told police "I can't help it if
the dog took a liking to me. He tried to rape
me. The dog pulled my trousers down."

2. John Paskel, from Ohio, was arrested for
repeatedly having sex with a neighbour's dog,
while the owner was out of town. "It may be
a dog," said the upset owner, "but it's been
in my family for nine and a half years."

3. A 12-year-old South African girl was caught
having sex with three male dogs. Angry villagers
beat the dogs that so badly that the local
RSPCA had to put them down. The girl is
facing bestiality charges.


George Bush visited with the Queen of England,
and asked
her, "Your Majesty, you've been a ruling monarch
almost all my
life, and I'm impressed. Do you mind if I ask you
a question? How
do you run such an efficient government? Are there
any tips you
can give me?"

"Well," said the Queen, "the most important
thing is to surround
yourself with intelligent people."

Bush frowned, "But how do I know the people
around me are really

The Queen took a sip of tea, then replied, "Oh,
that's easy. You
just ask them to answer an intelligence riddle.
I'll show you."

She then pushed a button on her intercom.
"Please send The Prime
Minister in here, would you?"

Tony Blair walked into the room. "Your Majesty .
. . ."

The Queen smiled and said, "Answer me this,
please, Tony. Your
mother and father have a child. It is not your
brother and it is
not your sister. Who is it?"

Without pausing for a moment, Blair answered,
"That would be

"Yes! Very good!," said the Queen.

Back at the White House, Bush called Vice
President Dick Cheney
to the Oval Office. "Dick, answer this for me. Your
mother and your
father have a child. It's not your brother and it's
not your
sister. Who is it?"

"I'm not sure," replied the Vice President.
"Let me get back to
you on that one."

Dick Cheney went to his advisers and asked every
one of them,
but none could give him an answer. With that he
went to the Men's
room. Recognizing Colin Powell's shoes in the next
stall, Cheney
shouted, "Colin! Can you answer this for me? Your
mother and
father have a child and it's not your brother or
your sister. Who
is it?"

Powell yelled back, "That's easy. It's me!"

Dick Cheney smiled. "Thanks!"

Cheney went back to the Oval Office and asked to
speak with

"George, I did some research and I have the
answer to that
riddle. It's Colin Powell."

Bush got up from his desk, stomped over to
Cheney, and angrily
yelled into his face, "No, you idiot! It's Tony


from Craig's List. If your interested, she's in Portlyland, er, Portland.

BIG girls like sex too!
this is in or around Delicious
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests


I feel some strong, wise, feminine energy emanating from this Oprah/Hillary alliance. Here's some more:


Inside every older person is a younger person -- wondering what the hell

-Cora Harvey Armstrong-

The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.

-Helen Hayes (at 73)-

I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows.

-Janet Barber-

Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse.

-Lily Tomlin-

A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who never owned a car.

-Carrie Snow-

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry with your girlfriends.

-Laurie Kuslansky-

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being, hitting my
head on the top bunk bed until I faint.

-Erma Bombeck-

Old age ain't no place for sissies.

-Bette Davis-

A man's got to do what a man's got to do. A woman must do what he can't.

-Rhonda Hansome-

The phrase "working mother" is redundant.

-Jane Sellman-

Every time I close the door on reality, it comes in through the windows.

-Jennifer Unlimited-

Whatever women must do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half
as good. Luckily, this is not difficult.

-Charlotte Whitton-

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts
falling apart.

-Caryn Leschen-

I try to take one day at a time -- but sometimes several days attack me at

-Jennifer Unlimited-

When I was young, I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years
before they realized I actually had a hearing loss. And they called ME slow!

-Kathy Buckley-

I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb --
and I'm also not blonde.

-Dolly Parton-

If high heels were so wonderful, men would still be wearing them.

-Sue Grafton-

I'm not going to vacuum 'til Sears makes one you can ride on.

-Roseanne Barr-

When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another

-Elayne Boosler-

Behind every successful man is a surprised woman.

-Maryon Pearson-

In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything
done, ask a woman.

-Margaret Thatcher-

I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a

-Gloria Steinem-

I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house.

-Zsa Zsa Gabor-

Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut the
bitch up with cookies.


Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.

-Eleanor Roosevelt-

November 26, 2005

AIDS FOR SALE domain name, actually. It's going for $410,000.

"We all know that AIDS / HIV continues to grow around the world with no cure in sight which means that will continue to be pertinent for generations to come and this rare acquisition opportunity should be looked upon as a long term investment.

Imagine the Freedom ... Work from Home or build the next great AIDS charity and have fun traveling the world promoting the fight against AIDS while being surrounded by celebrities and power brokers!"



Believe it or not, I have gotten a gig writing an advice column for a dutch fashion magazine called STAR STYLE. Here are a couple of my recent Q & A's with young dutch girls:

1. Dear Bunny, I am a tan-a-holic, I even sleep in my sunbed! Friends warn me that if I keep this up I will look like Paris Hilton after a L.A. bushfire in five years. How can I quit this addiction without losing my golden looks? Shall I quit cold turkey or take it slow? Love your ivory skin by the way, do you think that would suit me? Deborah, 22, Maastricht

We should only hope that Paris, the most empty-headed emblem of the US-besides our president, be caught in a bushfire to end her sad "career" before her rotten record comes out. I hear she covers Blondie's HEART OF GLASS--the nerve! Debbie Harry would roll over in her grave! What? Debbie's still alive? Whoops! My bad.

But back to you, my half-baked beauty. Of all the things to be addicted to, why tanning? There's internet sex, alcohol, and so many drugs to choose from. (As if I need to tell the Dutch about drugs!) Chocolate even! Tanning has been "in" and "out" over the last century--Debbie recalls--from women shielding their delicate complexions at the turn of the century to the sun-drenched looks in vogue in the 1950's, 60's, and 70's which indicated a life of leisure to the pasty pallor of new wave and later grunge movements. Nowadays, there is no one set trend, but scientific evidence clearly points to cumulative skin damage from the sun which in time, will turn you into a leathery old prune. Thankfully, there are are now spray tans and even bronzers which achieve the same effect without the damaging rays of the sun or tanning beds. Use these or you'll be sorry! (I suppose there isn't a lot of sun in Maastricht.)

I've always been naturally fair-skinned--the type of skin most susceptible to the sun's harsh rays. So I slather on the sunscreen from wig to toe each time I leave the house. My thick, theatrical foundation also blocks the sun if I cake it on heavy enough. But the ivory look is NOT for everyone. Should you try it, you may wanna bleach your teeth in conjunction with this look. Teeth darker than the skin is universally frowned upon.

On a serious note, the soaring temperatures of global warming and the hole in the ozone layer make sunscreen more important than ever--whether you tan or not. Never use the pointless thick, coconut-scented oils and ONLY use spf 15 or even higher protection for fairer skin. The most common mistake is not reapplying sunscreen often enough, so always pack a purse-sized tube to supplement the large economy size you keep at home. And not only are sunglasses "cool", they protect your eyes from sun damage. So wear them whenever possible--even on cloudy days--and you'll retain your vision for longer. The thing about the sun's cumulative damge is that there is no turning back. It's like a bank account you can't withdraw from. The more you expose yourself, the worse you'll look in the long run. Or stick to heavy tanning and skip the sunglasses. That way, you'll look terrible but at least YOU won't be able to see it!

2. Dear Bunny, I am going to a costumed party and I really love Britney's trashy 'bun in the oven' look. How can I achieve this hygienically challenged look for myself? Marta, 18, Utrecht

Well, if the soiree is less than 8 months off, getting pregnant tonight would be the perfect answer to your query. You could simply go out and find yourself the nearest trashy guy, get really wasted, sleep with him and pay him. Just like Britney did with Kevin! But to her credit, her "chaotic" affair with Mr. Federline has already outlasted her first marriage of 24 hours!

However, if you are concerned about safe sex, condoms will probably prevent Plan A. So go to Plan B: start eating now! Then put a little product in your hair: butter, bacon grease, cum, whatever is available and then stick in a thin, straggly ponytail on top of your head. Slanting the ponytail towards the back yields a more flattering silhouette, but if you really wanna go "whole hog Britney", wear it straight up off the top of the head for a brattier look which draws attention to your (by now) heavier jowls. Really expensive, over-sized designer glasses with cheap sweats and a cigarette hanging out of your mouth complete the look, though you may opt to dust your ensemble with junk food crumbs for added authenticity.

Burping as if you are inebriated, especially while appearing pregnant, is a surefire scene-stealer which is guaranteed to get them all talking. And you can really get the party started by attempting to dance if (God forbid) one of Britney's songs comes on, lip-synching as badly as she herself does in concert! There's nothing quite as sensational as a clueless, trashy, mom-to-be busting a move with a drink and cigarette. And should the crowd start to lose interest because of another celebrity impersonator in another part of the room (a crack-smoking Whitney Houston, for instance) you can also get 'em back by going into labor and screaming in intense pain.

November 25, 2005


Periel Aschenbrand's political fashion show was a hit! My fav is the boy in lipstick wearing a t-shirt which proclaims: MY DICK WOULD MAKE A BETTER VICE PRESIDENT. To view pix go to:



NEW YORK - Nov.21

The art world is buzzing today with the surprise
revelation that pop art icon Andy Warhol was secretly married and
maintained a family on a farm in rural Pennsylvania. Warhol?s
widow, Ms Wendy Hutchins Warhola bore three children to the late
artist, who died in 1987.

"I don't know what the big deal is," she said when reached by
telephone, ?It was no big secret, if that's what you mean."

Researcher and Warhol buff Bobby Sandoz uncovered the existence
of Wendy and her three children while researching a new book. All
three children are now married, with families of their own.

"They were in the phone book. I saw the name Warhola and I
called, thinking it might be a relative of some sort. Ms Warhola
was really friendly, and she invited me to come over and see them.
The elder daughter also lives there at their farm with her husband.
Needless to say, I was stunned to learn about all this."

It is not clear how much, if any of Warhol's estimated $650
million estate will go to Wendy (63) and children Ruth (38),
Stephen, and William (33). No claims were made by them at the time
of Warhol's death, and his executors were apparently unaware of the
existence of spouse and children. Representatives of the Warhol
Foundation declined to comment, other than to say that they now
affirm the authenticity of the relationship.

"I knew he earned money as a painter" says Ms Warhola, "it never
occurred to me to ask him for any. We have all we need here at the
farm, the garden, our cow Edie, and the chickens??"


Are all the reviews of RENT this skunk? An excerpt from the San Diego GAY AND LESBIAN TIMES review:

"With all the broad, Liza-like theatrics, forced cheer and eagerness to elongate every note, it plays like a special, AIDS-themed edition of “American Idol” written by Andrew Lloyd Weber."

OUCH! Full review here:


This sounds so awful that I WANT to see it! The next SHOWGIRLS, perhaps? I never saw the play. The ads featuring that drag queen in that Santa Claus suit alway screamed INAUTHENTIC!, and though I'm not a junkie prostitute with AIDS (I no longer hook), I was a thoroughbred East Village artsy-fartsy transvestite bum for 10 years and I never saw ANY drag gravitate toward Santa-ish looks, especially not with candy-striped hose and wrong platforms. I was glad to see that Wilson Heredias (the queen) doesn't do Santa in the ad, but someone said she puts it on at some point in the film. Is there an explanation for this? She's so poor that a Santa coat is the closest she can get to a dress? Or she's a club kid? I hate to fixate on that one outfit and poison an entire play and movie, but it's kind of like seeing a film set in the 1890's with a heroine in a Farrah Fawcett mane. It just kind of makes you think they didn't get anything else right, either.

Someone wrote this in and they have a point:

Anonymous said...

" Interesting review but whilst Rent is far from the perfect vision I had in mind - I thought the role of Angel was played beautifully by Wilson Jermaine Heredia, and Angel wears what she finds in the street, not what some dressmaker spent weeks on. I don't know why he singles this santa flaw out....most of the scenes were filmed in San Francisco, as it resembled the old NY more than the East Village does today."

"He?" I prefer "shim" or "herm" or just plain "it". Well, not that plain!

Honey, Angel may played his part beautifully, but I don't think it's unusual for another drag queen to focus on what another drag queen is wearing, especially if it doesn't ring true for what a drag in any situation would wear as it's male. Drags tend to shun male attire and don't really love being called "he", either! And I was ASKING readers "Why the Santa look?" Now I know. I guess there is an explanation for it. But it seemed to hint that the production was off. It still does actually, cuz I just don't--well, I'll just have to see it. (But wait! I need to save that $10.75 for ma dressmaker who's been working for weeks on a gorgeous new Santa/hooker outfit for me! Actually, after turkey day, it's the additional yardage requireded that's become so prohibitively expensive.)

I wanted to post your comments to give a contrasting viewpoint. In fact, I am not a fan of most musicals. West Side Story, Gypsy, Oliver, Grease and Dreamgirls I love, but "hip" subject matter can seem very contrived when it's subjects are constantly bursting into song, and those songs are corny as hell. But I'll admit that I am not partial to most musicals or gangsta rap, so maybe I should avoid reviewing either. Especially since I've never seen stage or film version of RENT. But I have heard awful snippetsof the tunes sung on morning shows which didn't exactly prod me to rush out and buy overpriced tix.) Besides, original RENT star Daphne Ruben-Vega and I have the same colorist so there's a little loyalty involved cuz she ain't in it!

I will agree with you wholeheartely on one point: the East Village ain't the bohemian paradise it used to be. Fancy boites with velvet ropes now line Avenue C as Sex and the City wannabes stroll by in designer duds! But for those of us who lived and worked in the East Village--maybe not as drug-addicted hookers but often close to it--ie: no one would pay us!-- when it WAS gritty, RENT rang about as true as Rosie O'Donnell's TABOO, which was another big budget Broadway take on a rarified underground scene.


I did enjoy Sarah Silverman in JESUS IS MAGIC. I can't get over how pretty she is! All those face close-ups and it doesn't look as if she even curls her lashes, much less wears mascara! (Or wears multiple pairs of fakes one the way some hags are forced to do...) I'm not the biggest fan of stand-up, but she pushes buttons and "goes there" with racial, AIDS and holocaust humor--oops, am I supposed to capitalize Holocaust? I don't want to demean it by making it start with a lower-case letter! That would be anti-semitic! I mean anti-Semitic!

It's basically a film of her stand-up act, but she breaks away with musical numbers which start on stage but turn into music videos which enable her not only to break the monotony of the "I'm a comic staning up here in jeans and t-shirt", but also show off wigs and lashes and make-up and her singing and songwriting. I can imagine several of these numbers becoming drag lip-synch classics, though there were a few that I did not get at all. In one she reminisces about entertaining for her dying granny and she's suddenly serenading some oldsters in a nursing home with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel with some outrageously funny refrain like "You're gonna die soon." Her humor is intentionally wrong--her character sizes up situations incorrectly with hilarious results. I always like that type of character in the lead. Like Nell Carter (R.I.P.) on GIMME A BREAK or Madame on MADAME'S PLACE. They were always the firs to falsely accuse someone, draw the wrong conclusion, etc. Sarah's of this school but more generation X. But then again, who ISN'T more generation X than Nell Carter and Madame?



>> Ringpiece revenge <<
Madonna suffers from anal tic-tacs

EP writes:
"When Madonna did her London show, she made
the mistake of annoying the stage crew.
During the show she had to eat some tic-tacs.
So one night the crew stole the tic tacs,
inserted them into their arses, and then
replaced them in the container. The tic-tacs
were used for the rest of the show's run. So
much for her macro-biotic diet!"

November 22, 2005


An excerpt from a fascinating article from San Francisco Chronicle. Falwell is mobilizing his supporters to boycott retailers who capitalize on the holidays. I guess he prefers to bilk his followers throughout the year, but not so much on Jesus's b'day. Don't you evengelicals have better things to do? Like complaining about the diabolical magick of Harry Potter?

"It's a sad day in America when you have to retain an attorney to say 'Merry Christmas,' " said Mike Johnson, an Alliance Defense Fund attorney in Louisiana who will push the Christmas cause.

Organizers of the Christmas campaigns say many Christians feel aggrieved by the secularization of the season. They say teachers feel too intimidated to allow students to sing "Silent Night" in school, and they believe cities have every right to place a nativity scene in a public park."

Read whole article: sfgate


In Minneapolis, I toured around with Q TV for their travel show on Minneapolis and Milwaukee! Here I am with cutie co-host Nick Oram aping (and I do mean aping) the famous hat-throwing statue from Mary Tyler Moore's show's fab opening segment where she tosses her hat into the air. Right next to the image of lovely, girlish Mary, it reminded me of how much I resembled the star of the show. No, not Mary--the other star. Lou Grant! Busted!



VIBE Awards: VIBE Editor Responds To Mary J. Blige

November 15, 2005

An excerpt from Mary J. Blige's acceptance speech for the 2005 VLegend Award:

"Last but not least, I gotta thank Quincy Jones and this whole VIBE thing. Absolutely. For so many years, VIBE has given me great, great, great covers, but I must say, I'm very, very disappointed at the cover this time, so Mimi, me and you really need to talk, as women. No disrespect, but I really hated the way you guys shaved off my head, pushed my forehead way back behind my ears. I'm just insulted, so that's no respect on the cover, but I thank you, and I appreciate this award."

Dearest Mary,

Dissing VIBE while accepting our VLegend Award was extremely disappointing. I'm sorry you find your most recent cover insulting. It was definitely not our intention. If you look at the big picture, we've been supportive of your career beginning with the first issue of VIBE in the fall of '92. You've graced our cover seven times, more than any other artist.

Besides your desire to make a private conversation public, your accusations are untrue. How your hair looks on that cover is between you and your hairstylist. I swear, your hairline is no different than the Polaroids you saw at the shoot or the snapshots we printed in my What's Good column. In any case, you felt compelled to speak your peace, and at the end of the day, isn't this truly why we all love Mary in the first place?

One of the hardest things about working at VIBE is not to take things like this personally. For myself and the rest of the edit staff, working here is more than just a job. We take our roles as journalists very seriously, but we're die-hard fans as well. I'd be lying not to admit how hurt we were by the negativity you brought to our celebration, especially since you were being honored. After last year's incident, we went above and beyond to make this year's ceremony drama-free. We did not want to let '04's unfortunate events deter us from our mission to celebrate the best of the best in urban music. It's sad you did not share in this vision with us.


Mimi Valdes



photo and model: Sergio Kardenas

The trailer can be viewed on within a day or two--the trailer for the dvd, not the one I grew up in, assholes! It will be available only on for $25 and at live shows for $20. I'll be performing excerpts from it:









12/14 XL in NYC



12/12 XL in NYC



NEW YEARS EVE: High-powered booking agents are still battling it out over which of the many top-notch offers I'll accept. (In other words, PLEASE BOOK ME!)


November 21, 2005


Whether it's the silicone-soaked titty sirens of the famed Miss Continental pageant or the grand ol' dames of the Imperial Court system, drag queens just love to compete for titles. Not as much emphasis is placed on it in NYC, but within their own worlds these girls are superstars. The pageant gals think nothing flying in sets and a dozen dancers for their talent segments, and spectacular custom-beaded gowns and jewelry are the norm. They make us NYC queens look downright booger! Of course, clubs in NYC don't have spacious dressing rooms the way showbars do in other parts of the country, so we normally (except for La Escuelita) perform in the ensembles we wear out of the house and maybe bring one change. I was gagging in St. Louis over this one queen who changed even nail colors between numbers. She explained it by narrowing her eyes and drawling "Honey, I love dra-a-a-g!" But this is drag that these queens spend a fortune on and wear for 5 minutes on stage, then it's carefully stored for the next performance or pageant so those feathers and sequins must stay perfect. New York girls normally troll it out all night in crowded clubs and bugle-beaded gown ain't the ticket for us.

So it was with great interest that I co-hosted the Miss Club Masque in Dayton, Ohio on Friday. My co-emcee was the delicious Miss Hope Sexton, who has a hilarious way of intro-ing the queens by singing their last names in a wild vibrato. The first segment was Presentation, which had a Mardi Gras theme. In light of Katrina, I jokingly asked if that meant it would be a swimsuit competition, and was reminded that Ohio was a red state as the crowd almost hissed at the jab "And speaking of "What is George W. Bush's position on Roe vs. Wade? Honey, he didn't care how people got out of New Orleans!"

Question and Answer was next. Each contestant picked an envelope, and while I waited for my a-sissie-tant to open the question--my nails weren't quite long enough to act as letter-openers--for a rather heavy queen, someone in the audience yelled out their own question for her: "Where is my food?" I hope that the joke was directed at the competitor and not me! I joked with an older, straight man and his wife in the audience during the show. Later, the heavyset queen told me that this man was her father, and that--indicating her feet--"These are his heels. My mom doesn't know." A family tran-dition, I guess. And we think we're wild in NYC.

Amelia Black, a Freda Payne-ish stunner from Cinncinati wowed me with her dazzling lip-synch of Rachelle Ferrell's scat-alogical BYE, BYE, BLACKBIRD, which even featured a fag dancer dressed as a blackbird which Amelia shooed offstage. Brilliant. Equally fantastic with bigger production value was Sashay Lorez's medley of some version of SWEET GEORGIA BROWN and DON'T MEAN A THING (IF IT AIN'T GOT THAT SWING). The brassy arrangement was sizzling and Sashay punched every stop with an "I'm-gonna-win-this" vengeance. And she did. But also noteworthy was Penelope C's number from WICKED, where she actually flew on a broomstick painted green. The green matched her teeth--BOTH OF 'EM!

Appropriately, Sashay burst into tears when it was announced that she'd won. A $10,000 prize ain't nuthin to sneeze at, especially if much of it goes to recoup your custom-made Coco Vega bugle-beaded evening wear. Sashay even marched out with a male escort who was dressed in a Lion King headdress to accessorize her African Queen pattern! And though pageants have never seemed important to me, in a smaller city where there are few outlets for a drag to enter the legit entertainment biz, a title translates into more and better paid bookings, much like an actor who becomes an Oscar-winner. I must say, I wish we had more of them in NYC. I guess the Harlem balls are similar, but more focused on dance than performing lipsynch numbers. I'm also fascinated to see which new songs queens select from today's artists. Many top-selling female artists aren't the best singers, so drags don't have the Patti Labelle's, Barbra Streisands, Aretha Franklins, Gladys Knights, and Bette Midlers that my generation had to pick from--though good old Cher--or "Scar" as RuPaul recently called her!--is still around. Ms. Scarlet Fever did Kelly Clarkson's HAZEL EYES, and though it's not my cup of tea, it is a well-crafted song which builds and Kelly's got the pipes. The queen who did Janet Jackson danced really well, but Janet's vox are so airy nowadays that there wasn't much to sink her teeth into lip-synch-wise.

November 20, 2005


He's the first US president to visit Mongolia. I'm sure that this mongoloid must have relatives there.

Locked Doors Thwart Bush's Bid to Duck Question

from AOL NEWS:

BEIJING (Nov. 20) - Irked by a reporter who told him he seemed to be "off his game" at a Beijing public appearance, President George W. Bush sought to make a hasty exit from a news conference but was thwarted by locked doors.

President Bush jokingly makes a face as he tries to open a locked door as he leaves a press conference in Beijing, China, Sunday.

At the end of a day of meetings with Chinese President Hu Jintao and other Chinese officials, Bush held a session with a small group of U.S. reporters and spoke at length about issues like religious freedom, Iraq and the Chinese currency.

The final reporter he called on critiqued Bush's performance earlier in the day when he stood next to Hu in the Great Hall of the People on Tiananmen Square to deliver a statement.

"Respectfully, sir -- you know we're always respectful -- in your statement this morning with President Hu, you seemed a little off your game, you seemed to hurry through your statement. There was a lack of enthusiasm. Was something bothering you?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of jet lag?" Bush responded. "Well, good. That answers your question."

The president then recited a list of things of that he viewed as positive developments from his Beijing meetings, including cooperation on North Korean nuclear disarmament and the ability to have "frank discussions" with his Chinese counterpart.

When the reporter asked for "a very quick follow-up," Bush cut him off by thanking the press corps and telling the reporter "No you may not," as he strode toward a set of double doors leading out of the room.

The only problem was that they were locked.

"I was trying to escape. Obviously, it didn't work," Bush quipped, facing reporters again until an aide rescued him by pointing to him toward the correct door.


A friend sent me this:

Things you can say ONLY at Thanksgiving.

1. Talk about a huge breast!
2. Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist.
3. It's Cool Whip time!
4. If I don't undo my pants, I'll burst!
5. Whew, that's one terrific spread!
6. I'm in the mood for a little dark meat.
7. Are you ready for seconds yet?
8. It's a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
9. Just wait your turn, you'll get some!
10. Don't play with your meat.
11. Just spread the legs open and stuff it in.
12. Do you think you'll be able to handle all these people at once?
13. I didn't expect everyone to come at once!
14. You still have a little bit on your chin.
15. How long will it take after you stick it in?
16. You'll know it's ready when it pops up.
17. Wow, I didn't think I could handle all of that!
18. That's the biggest one I've ever seen!
19. How long do I beat it before it's ready?

But they left a few off:

20. Eat some shit out of a dead dog's ass, Mom!
21. Daddy, quit rimming me--I'm trying to fart blood on this hot dog bun!
22. Granny dear, will your ass taste any saltier after I stab you?
23. Msoggjnqeo8sfdf,[a[[adjasuuj!!!!


From, a site which sends out an interesting weekly newsletter which primarily focuses on dance music culture, but includes other bites as well. But they aren't on the website, you have to visit the website and sign up for the newsletter, which will then be emailed to you, unlike my fabled newsletter, which has yet to materialize!

Lady-boy Kissing Criminals Threaten Thai Tourists

A 73 year old Bangladeshi businessman bit off more than he could chew this week,
when he took three transvestite prostitutes back to his Bangkok apartment who
proceeded to drug him before robbing him of his laptop, money and mobile phone.

The reportedly 'attractive' ladyboys confessed to cops that they slipped
powerful sedatives down their victim's throat as they passionately snogged him,
prompting Thai authorities to issue a general alert to tourists warning of the
sinister new scam.

"Don't rush to kiss a stranger on the mouth, " a police lieutenant colonel
advised, "Or you will end up in a deep sleep." (AP)

In more bad news for Bangkok revellers, authorities this week imposed a further
clampdown on licensing arrangements, outlawing sales of alcohol from midnight at
all venues and shops throughout the city. A citywide 2am club curfew is already
strictly enforced across the capital with many clubs closing at one, and the new
alcohol ban will presumably mean many, if not all, are now forced to shut at


With techniques developed over the last five years, surgeons can now construct
a clitoris and maximize vaginal sensation. Dr Thep claims most patients can even
reach orgasm. Transsexuals sporting a 'neovagina' are technically no longer
faking it - they have become the real thing… even better than the real thing
according to some . . .

Bunny note: Since doctors invert the penis to make the neovagina, if they dick ain't big enough, they can't make they pussy big enough. So they have to take some of the colon tissue to extend the vagina to make it sufficiently deep to fuck! Colon tissue? Talk about a shitty vagina! But these Thai changes are GORGEOUS!

Check 'em out here:

Universe, 'the world's leading ladyboy beauty pageant')

But Chicago's own blonde bombshell--former Dennis Rodman blow-hort--Mimi Marks just snatched the Miss Asia World trophy in Thailand, after winning last year's World's Most Beautiful Transsexual pageant in Vegas a year or so ago. Mimi is a goddess and total sweetheart. Having had the pleasure of meeting her in her day look, I think she looks even cuter with no make-up! Die, bitch! You're just too fucking gorgeous!

November 19, 2005


Arnold's an ass man. Watch this silly video of Mr. Universe visiting Brasil.


And some Hilton poop:

>> Spanking the monkey <<
Paris attacked by primate, buys bullwhip

Now that Michael Jackson has fled to Bahrain,
Paris Hilton is filling the "crazy celebrity
with monkey" void by walking around Los
Angeles with her pet primate, called Baby Luv.

However, when she visited Agent Provocateur,
Baby Luv went bananas, biting Paris and
clawing at her face.

Paris' calmly tied the monkey to a cabinet,
then bought $400 of pants. Ominously for Baby
Luv, she also purchased a bullwhip.

(FYI: Michael Jackson reportedly disciplined his
chimp Bubbles by shaving his arse.)

Provocative photos of Paris' mother Kathy at a party,
when she was 14, are on sale on eBay. Teen actress
Kathy married Rick Hilton when she was barely 19.


Click on: Did 'South Park' go too far in mocking Tom Cruise?

I didn't see this episode but the CNN report is pretty OUT-rageous.


You may remember my close-up of Jeff Stryker's cock in front of my face at Hustlaball in Berlin. And then you may recall my pix of detouched (=removing the airbrushing) celebs like Madoodoo. Well, now Chris X has detouched me! I must say, he did a brilliant job. Love the bruise on Jeff's nut! I just wish my chin had put it there!


Willie is one of my favorite all-time scenesters in NYC. He IS NYC. There are disputes over who first brought vogueing to the mainstream, but Willie definitely played a large part in it. "Fierce" and "kind" don't usually go hand in hand, but WIllie is an exception to this. He's one of the warmest people to ever light up NY nightlife. I'm deeply dismayed to hear that he's ill and know that if you've encountered his magic, you'll want to come out and support this nightlife legend. Unfortunately, I'm not certain that I'll be in NYC for it, but if you are, please stop by. Even if you don't Willie, Louie Vega's spinning and some fab vocalists including Barbara Tucker, Darryl D'Bonneau, Kenny Bobien and Inda Matrix will be performing. It'll be an Underground Network family affair and I'm sure the vibe will be classic NY.

AVALON (formerly LIMELIGHT) DEC. 6TH, 10:00 PM.

November 18, 2005


Headed there to emcee a pageant at CLUB MASQUE but I hope I get to see this ill statue? Since when was Jesus's beard so short? This looks more like Abe Lincoln!

On Ohio Flatland, a Megachurch's Eye-Catcher Dominates
E-Mail This
Save Article
Published: November 17, 2005
MONROE, Ohio - Jesus first appears in a flash, a white statue rising from the flat cornfields 40 miles north of Cincinnati. Then he is gone, hidden behind a gas station.

Enlarge This Image

Mike Simons for The New York Times
The Jesus statue in Monroe, Ohio, is 62 feet tall and weighs eight tons.
Drive another quarter-mile up Interstate 75, past the billboards for Bristol's Strip Club and Trader's World Flea Market, and suddenly the image appears in all its full dimensions. Jesus, depicted from the waist up, is six stories tall and seems to burst from the ground, as if he might gather a tractor-trailer in his Honda-size hands and lift it to heaven.

After dark, the figure is illuminated by spotlights from below. "It sort of looms out at you, especially at night," said Aaron Andrews, a trucker from Milwaukee.

The statue, erected in 2003, was the inspiration of Lawrence and Darlene Bishop, evangelical Christian pastors of the 3,400-member Solid Rock Church here, which spent $250,000 on a project that did not go smoothly.

The image's steel frame was built in nearby Lebanon, Ohio, and the body, made of Styrofoam and fiberglass, on the beach in Jacksonville, Fla. The body was then trucked north. But when workers started installing the statue on an island in a man-made reflecting pool behind the church, they found that the head and arms were too small for the chest.

The builder, James Lynch, then spent three months ripping the fiberglass apart and recasting the outstretched arms and upturned face. The completed figure weighs 16,000 pounds and, at 62 feet, stands 20 feet taller than originally planned, though its skin is so thin that it bends to the touch of a finger.

Some congregants say the statue keeps watch over a section of freeway that was once among the most dangerous in Ohio. Twelve people died along that 15-mile stretch of I-75 in the two years before the image was erected, eight of them killed after cars jumped the median into oncoming traffic. Since the statue went up more than two years ago, there have been no such crossover deaths.

"Can't too much go wrong next to a big statue of Jesus," said one member of the church, James Nelms, 23.

Officials at the Ohio Department of Transportation attribute the improved safety to a $1.1-million high-tension cable that the department built in the freeway's median about the time, coincidentally, that the statue was erected. Cars have hit the cable 183 times since then, and in three of those cases, crashes have occurred within three-tenths of a mile of the church.

There is also a running disagreement over the statue's name. Postcards for sale in the church's gift shop refer to it as the King of Kings. Many locals call it Touchdown Jesus, since, a bit like the famed mural at the University of Notre Dame, it resembles a robed and bearded referee signaling a score at the goal line. Others call it Super Jesus, MC 62ft Jesus (for the technomusician of a similar name) or simply Big J.

The Bishops' original idea was for a sculpture of Jesus that was no larger than life-size. That it turned into something much bigger than envisioned was entirely apt, given the couple's own lives.

Mr. Bishop, now 63, was born in the Appalachian village of Zag, Ky. He bought his first horse for $25 at the age of 10 and, though it was blind, sold it for $250 and went on to become one of the nation's biggest quarter horse dealers.

He opened Solid Rock Church with 12 members above a fire station in 1978. Together with his wife, he built it into a megachurch on a 100-acre campus with its own Bible college and music amphitheater.

Four years ago Mr. Bishop wrote his first song, for church. Now he has recorded five hits. On Nov. 10, he went to Nashville to perform at the Christian Country Music Awards Show. He was nominated for three awards, and won one of them, as music evangelist of the year.

As for Mrs. Bishop, who dropped out of high school at 17 to marry him, she now has her own Christian talk show for women, called "Sisters," which appears nationally seven days a week on various cable television channels.

Solid Rock Church, with its atmosphere of unplanned gigantism, is one of the few places where a 62-foot statue of Jesus could fit right in. In March, the Bishops squeezed a 1,000-seat balcony into their worship hall to accommodate all the new members who have joined their rapidly growing church in the last two years.

"God ordained all of this to happen," Mr. Bishop said. "I never even wanted to be a preacher."


from AOL Entertainment News

Triumph the Dog Worried About Global Warming
Purveyor of One-Liners to Perform on TBS Special

NEW YORK (Nov. 17) - Triumph the Insult Comic Dog doesn't just bark out zingers and smoke cigars - he worries about global warming. So the R-rated hand puppet will be one of the performers for TBS' two-hour "Earth to America" special 8 p.m. EST Sunday.


from the WOW report

A Pome

by George W Bush

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?

How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pant leg of opportunity.

I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
Where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!

Make the pie higher!

(Pome made up intirely of GW Bush statements, compiled by Washington Post's Richard Thompson)

November 17, 2005


A friend sent me this photo of a horrible highway accident in Holland.

The picture may be kind of hard for some of you to take. If you look
closely you can see what appears to be survivors of the accident still in
the wreckage. Although the picture is quite graphic, it makes you realize
how quickly your loved ones can be taken.

Take a moment today and spend some time with those you love, and let this be
a chilling reminder to all of you that life is short. Hard to believe how
quickly they can be taken from this world.

Have a good weekend and be safe.


Texas Pastor Electrocuted During Baptism

WACO, Texas - A pastor performing a baptism was electrocuted inside his church Sunday morning after adjusting a nearby microphone while standing in water, a church employee said.

The Rev. Kyle Lake, 33, was stepping into the baptistery as he reached out for the microphone, which produced an electric shock, said University Baptist Church community pastor Ben Dudley.

Water in a baptistery usually reaches above the waist, said Byron Weathersbee, interim university chaplain at Baylor University.

Lake was pronounced dead at Hillcrest Baptist Medical Center, nursing supervisor Pat Mahl said. The woman being baptized apparently had not stepped into the water and was not seriously injured.

Pastors at University Baptist Church routinely use a microphone during baptisms, said Jamie Dudley, the wife of Ben Dudley and a business administrator at the church.

"He was grabbing the microphone so everyone could hear," she said. "It's the only way you can be loud enough."

About 800 people attended the morning service, which was larger than normal because it was homecoming weekend at nearby Baylor University, Dudley said.

Lake had been at the church for nine years, the last seven as pastor. He had a wife, Jennifer, a 5-year-old daughter and two 3-year-old sons.

At a remembrance attended by about 1,000 people Sunday night at First Baptist Church, Ben Dudley told the UBC congregation that they would move forward as a church.

"I don't know how, when, why, where or what's going to happen, but we will continue as a church in the community because that is what Kyle would have wanted," he said.


(Demain translates to tomorrow.)



If a party runs out of booze, you sock the host and drink his nosebleed.

Your wife asks you to pick up a canned ham, and you show up with a case of Hamm’s in cans.

Interventions have become so frequent that you just leave the folding chairs set up in your living room.

The arresting officer tells you that you have the right to remain silent and you waive that right so you can finish singing Enter Sandman.

You know how to say “Where are my pants?” in seven languages.

You have a lot of respect for that 80-year-old guy at the end of the bar, but you know from experience that he’s a dirty fighter.

You go on week-long benders just so you’ll have a cool story to tell at your AA meetings.

You got in a fist fight with a wino over how long a bottle of Thunderbird should be allowed to “breathe”.

You’re willing to go on the wagon, so long as it’s heading for a bar.

You got pissed off when you forgot whatever you were drinking to forget.

— Lorin Partridge, FKR, Randall Greenland, Frank Bell, Rev. Steven F. Scharff, Keith W.

You have so much alcohol in your system that your cabbie has to be HazMat certified.

If a wino jumped off a building, you’d bravely leap forward to break the fall of his bottle.

You install shag carpet because it’s easier to hang on to.

Embalming fluid would be an improvement.

Your last Breathalyzer reading was “No Fucking Way.”

Distilleries fight over the billboard nearest to your place of residence.

The state has installed a Breathalyzer interlock device on your shoes.

You drew up a living will that states very clearly that you do not want the booze tube removed under any circumstances.

Your friends often substitute “Good night” with “Hey, you can’t sleep here.”

When you donate blood they store it in oak barrels.

You openly commit crimes just to learn new pruno recipes.

Your name is police code for Public Intoxication.

You’re fairly sure a letter to Dear Abby signed “Want To Leave the Bum, But Can’t” was written by your liver.

—Barca, ssapals, maddog, FKR

Your favorite drinking game is Do A Shot Every Time You Do A Shot.

Your idea of a seven-course meal is a six-pack and a pizza.

TV beer ads have started addressing you by name.

Someone offers you palm wine and you think they’re out of glassware.

You brush your teeth with bourbon. It hasn’t helped cut down on cavities, but who cares?

When a panhandler asks, “Can you give me a quarter for some beer?” you reply, “Okay, but I want to taste it first.”

You know heavy drinking makes you smarter because you can never remember doing anything stupid while blacked out.

You have a split personality—every time you meet someone with booze you want to split it with them.

You were so drunk at the office Xmas party that you kissed your own wife.

You’ve never been to Afghanistan or Pakistan, but you’re a frequent visitor to Imtoodrunktostan.

You become sexually aroused by the tapping of a keg.

You know you can use Jagermeister as cough syrup. And visa versa.

Your 86s are passed down to your grandchildren.

—D. Tostenson, FKR, Luke Schmaltz

You have a sweet tooth for alcohol—in fact, your whole mouth likes it.

You spill so much booze at home your dog slurs his barks.

Your credit history is composed entirely of bar tabs.

When you get a cold you get a bottle of whiskey, do shots, and it’s gone — not the cold, the whiskey.

You’re always shaking hands, even when there’s no one else around.

Whenever you bend your elbow your mouth snaps open.

When your boss asks you to work overtime you demand time and a fifth.

You get held up almost every time you go home — in fact it’s the only way you can get home.

You’d be happy to go on the wagon if you could find one with a bar.

Your favorite bar is four blocks away — six blocks coming back.

When you order a hound for the rouse.

The Red Cross uses your blood to sterilize their instruments.

You’re half scotch, and your ancestors aren’t from Scotland.

You know how to handle your liquor — with both hands.

You hate the very sight of liquor, which is why you hide it in your stomach.

You can tell what bar you’re in by the bottoms of their tables.

-—FKR, Troy Baxley

A liter of scotch isn't enough to invite a friend over for a drink.

Your first science fair project was a still.

You know most the of people in a bar and can’t remember one of their names.

Anyone who kisses you must legally wait half an hour to drive.

They have to mix your blood with tonic water before giving it to anyone.

You’ve filed assault charges against a coffee table.

When you’re out in the street, you are literally “out” in the street.

You think of drinking beer as “sobering up,”

You can say “Whiskey, please” in 34 languages, but can’t understand “Last call” in English.

Your liver takes sides against you during an intervention.

You know better than going near an open flame while you’re bleeding.

Your bed looks a helluva lot like a park bench, and your bedroom looks a helluva lot like a park.

You need a blood transfusion to legally enter a dry county.

Your flask is spring-loaded.

You judge cologne by its bouquet and finish.

— SJP, Will Butler, MidSummer Cocktail, el pulpo, barcalounge,DJF, FKR

Your liver is in the Federal Witness Protection Program.

You enjoy cooking with wine, and sometimes you even put it in the food.

You’ve only been drunk once in your life, and so far it’s lasted twenty-three years.

You liver has a restraining order on you.

You can tell the difference between a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Jim by the sound they make hitting the back of your head.

Alcoholism doesn’t run in your family—it takes its own sweet time.

You’ve been cut off during communion.

You wonder why they call it Southern Comfort when they know damn well there is nothing comfortable about being handcuffed in the back of a squad car.

Growing-up means buying better booze, getting older means getting used to the cheap stuff again.

You miss the old days when you were younger than the cop that finds you sleeping in a dumpster.

You were excited about the Olsen twins turning “legal” until you realized they still aren’t old enough to buy you a drink.

You resent it when people call you a raving alcoholic, because you’ve never been to a rave in your life.

—Keith, W., Billy, Pat Murphy, DrunkenJackFlask, Zaknaldrett, FKR

You keep a bottle of liquor next to your bed so you can have breakfast in bed when you wake up.

You consider anything less than 80 proof a chaser.

You’ve eaten 87 packets of honey mustard because on the label it lists “white wine” as an ingredient.

You have convinced yourself that you’re not drinking
alone so long as your friends Jack, Jim and Johnnie
are over.

Your wardrobe is divided into Summer, Winter and
Things You Woke Up Wearing. The third category
includes a number of thongs.

Your BAC is measured in proof.

You measure time by drinks, as in: "Hold on a shot, the movie doesn't start for another four bourbons."

To you "Last call!" sounds just like "Please don’t leave! We love you and you're charming wit!"

You don’t use cologne or aftershave because you have a moral objection to alcohol going anywhere but down your throat.

You’d exercise more but when you sweat it smells like booze and that makes you thirsty.

You always finish your drinks because there are sober people in China.

When you come home to find your house burglarized the first thing you check is your liquor cabinet.

You'll join A.A. when they start serving cocktails at the meetings.

Your ATM is a Dumpster full of recyclable cans.

You'll sleep through a train wreck, yet spring awake to the sound of a bottle top turning.

—Erik Hinrichsen, Oggar, pbrstreetgang,
190 Proof, Troy Baxley, FKR

You can order a beer in 17 different languages but don’t know how to pronounce “Perrier.”

When a cop asks, “Have we been drinking?” you reply, “Do you really think I’d drink with the likes of you?”

You freak out when you wake up in your own bed.

You’d have passed the sobriety test if you hadn’t mistaken the Breathalyzer for a bugle.

Your waking thought is, “Wow, look at all the gum stuck to the bottom of the table.”

You got in trouble at work because your standard greeting is, “Hey, let’s do a shot!”

You cursed the St. Bernard who rescued you because he had the nerve to bring only one lousy liter of brandy.

You can hear someone whisper “free beer” from three blocks away.

You consider a bottle of cheap whiskey and two shot glasses a very romantic gift.

You hate it when men give you flowers because, hey—you can’t drink flowers.

You dream of the beautiful day when all races, religions, creeds and colors finally get it together and pitch in to buy you a case of decent scotch.

You show up to brewery tours wearing fins and a snorkel.

You tell your friends your dog’s name is “Time For A Beer Run” but you call him “Hurry Up.”

The tooth fairy left you shots of Rumpleminze.

You’ve convinced yourself your liver isn’t distended—it’s pregnant. With a new liver.

—FKR, Rich English

You play the same song 20 times in a row at top volume at three in the morning and are certain the neighbors don’t mind because, you know, it’s such a kick-ass song.

You think the porcelain hat looks good on you.

Your idea of karaoke is falling off the stage while yelling “Rock and roll!” into the microphone.

Your house is four times farther from the bar on the way back.

Your alarm clock is synchronized with the nearest liquor store’s opening time.

You have threatened to murder and marry the same person in the span of a single happy hour.

You are the answer to the question, “What kind of idiot pukes in a bidet?”

While in the drunk tank your friends tried to sneak you a fifth of Beam in a cake.

You’re personal trainer is a bartender.

You’ve known Jack Daniels so long you refer to him as John.

You watch Behind the Music and think “That’s really not that much alcohol.”

The bartender is in the weeds and you’re the only person in the bar.

You refuse to play Golden Tee because there is no beer cart girl.

Think box wine is great; eagerly awaiting box whiskey.

Troy Baxley, Matty G., Nick Esposito, FKR, Swamp, Oggar

You get cut off in absentia.

You won’t rent an apartment that doesn’t have a bar and liquor store within two blocks.

You’re favorite cocktail is one quarter vodka, one quarter vodka, one half vodka and topped up with vodka.

You get angry when guys who can’t hold their liquor keep stepping on your fingers.

You get nervous when there are only three bottles of liquor left in your house.

You forget how pants work.

You’re not angry about the fly in your drink, you’re angry he didn’t chip in on the tab.

You’ve never taken a lesson, but after eight drinks you’re pretty damn sure you can play the piano. And break dance. At the same time.

You hate it when your lightweight drinking buddies get so drunk you can barely see them.

You’ve put a dozen vampires into A.A.

You shake the same person’s hand five times between last call and getting booted out.

You’re entire life’s savings equals a case a cheap beer and bottle of rotgut bourbon. And you’re very excited by the fact.

You think Jim Beam is a utility company because it keeps shutting off your lights.

You never blackout. You just take a lot of “loud vertical naps.”

—FAS, FKR, A Liar’s Club Regular, Dave Schalmo, The Dirty Swede, barcalounge, Big Casino and Toondale.

You have never taken a drink of a non-alcoholic beverage without thinking, “Man, a splash of booze would fix this right up.”

You’ve apologized to people you don’t remember meeting for things you don’t remember doing in places you don’t remember going.

You think of plate glass windows as more suggestions than guidelines.

You can’t walk a straight line unless the floor is moving.

You dressed as a wino for halloween and no one noticed.

Half the bartenders in town know exactly which porch to leave you on.

Your tapeworm joined a 12 Step program.

You attempted to have a keg delivered to your cell in the drunk tank.

Your paychecks are deposited directly into a bar’s bank account.

Instead of “Good morning,” the first words out of your mouth are “Have you seen my trousers?”

You were looking forward to your court-mandated alcohol classes until you found out there wasn’t any actual alcohol involved.

You hang an open umbrella from your drinking hand to catch the spillage.

Long Islands are your cup of tea.

The words “Last Call” physically hurt you.

Detox leaves a mint under your pillow.

—Jacko, Barcalounge, DPAW, Omar, Troy Baxley, One For The Frog, Frank Bell and FKR.

You fall down a well and send Lassie to the liquor store.

Bartenders call you when you’ve been absent for more than two days.

Lawn sprinklers are sometimes your alarm clock.

You wake up in a strange city not knowing how you got there, and the three other guys don’t know either.

You need help getting the breathalyzer in the right hole.

You lost a fistfight with yourself.

It takes two shots of schnapps to wash the taste of Breathalyzer out of your mouth.

You like to stop for a drink on the way to the fridge to get a beer.

You went on vacation for two weeks and the owner of your regular bar had his boat repossessed.

You’ve asked a bartender to “freshen up” your shot glass.

Bars call in their off-duty bartenders when you walk in the door.

You’ve asked a waiter: “What sort of wine goes with vodka?”

When buying floor tile, you press your face against it to see how comfortable it would be to sleep on.

You get into a loud, enraged argument, then realize you’re alone.

—Hugh Janblack, Dave Schalmo, Barcalounge, Drunken JackFlask, Geofflilley and FKR.

After your fifth drink, you’re like Don Juan with the ladies: They Don Juan nothing to do with you.

You suspect that water, taken in small quantities, isn’t all that dangerous.

You occasionally have meals with your wine.

You wake up every morning at the crack of ice.

You drink to forget you drink.

You distrust camels, or anyone else who can go a week without a drink.

People get drunk by shaking your hand.

You never eat breakfast on an empty stomach.

Beer is the reason you get up every afternoon.

The only drinking problem you have is the two-hands/one-mouth thing.

Your house is so messy because it spins like a top every time you lie down.

You drink to steady yourself, and sometimes you get so steady you can’t move.

You never walk, you just occasionally stagger in a straight line.

You get angry because there’s always so much booze left at the end of your money.

You think that drunks are a lot like chess players, only drunk.

You forgot your fishing pole on your fishing trip and didn’t notice.

You’ve been laid out on more floors than Johnson’s Wax.

Your liver has hired an attorney.

You wish all the world’s parking lots could be somehow turned into lush rain forests, because, you know, it’s hard to hide from cops in a parking lot.

Your favorite bar installed a seat belt on your barstool.

The glass isn’t half empty or half full. It just needs to be topped off.

You don’t fall off the wagon—you leap off it while chugging a bottle of cheap bourbon.

You have two personalities: Mr. Responsibility and Mr. I-Think-I’ll-Call-All-My-Old-Girlfriends-While-I'm-Blacked-Out.

The word “rent” loses all meaning after your fifth drink.

You’re so good at “drinking to forget” that you sometimes forget how to walk.

Whenever someone in a suit spills your well bourbon it magically transforms into top shelf scotch on the way to the floor.

You laugh at funerals but weep like a baby whenever you hear about a beer truck overturning.

You’d rather be a bus driver than an astronaut because, hey, there ain’t no beer where they’re going.

You don’t mind when your wife finds you stinking drunk in a bar, because then you can hit her up for a free drink.

Pink elephants get drunk and they see you.

You can get drunk on Scotch tape.

You’re not a hard drinker. It’s the easiest thing you do.

You like to have a drink between drinks.

You’d join AA but your always too drunk too memorize the pledge.

Your sleep number is 151 . . . proof.

You quit drinking once, and it was the worst afternoon of your life.

You won’t eat an olive unless it’s sterilized in gin.

You think Beethoven’s Fifth is a bottle of schnapps.

You’re living a champagne lifestyle on a beer budget. Except you don’t like champagne so you just drink lots and lots of beer.

Gin rummy sounded like a fun game.

You’re stalked by alcoholic vampires.

You have never screwed a cap back onto a liquor bottle.

Your friends pretend to be bartenders, just so you’ll pay attention to them.

Your personal mantra is, “Where there’s a swill, there’s a sway.”

You suffer from barthritis— every night you get stiff in another joint.

You don’t recognize the difference between “waking up” and “coming to.”

You donate a pint of blood and the hospital has to card the patient they give it to.

Your liver enters itself in a Tough Man competition.

You wear Hawaiian shirts because it’s tougher to see vomit stains on them.

Going out drinking with you is covered by your friends’ insurance.

As a child your dad helped you learn math by first explaining a four-count.

Your personal math system is based on the number six, i.e.: “I’ll take a twelver of Big Macs, with a sixer of those without cheese.”

You use visualization techniques to master beer bongs.

In high school, you were voted most likely to drink in grade school.

2 for 1 is your lucky number.

A perfect date is soft music, a bottle of wine and moi.

A couple times a year you go on a “non-bender.”

Before you go out each night you consult a psychic hotline to determine which bartenders will be pouring strong.

Peeling the label off a beer bottle arouses you.

You feel a tinge of pride when someone refers to you as a “shameless alcoholic.”

You’ve discovered that teaching your dog to shoplift from liquor stores was not nearly as hard as teaching him to distinguish between Grey Goose and McCormick’s.

You were against going to war with Iraq until you found out those poor fuckers aren’t allowed to drink.

The first thing you thought when you woke up yesterday was, “Wow, look at all that gum stuck under the bar!”

Your girlfriend left you because you accidentally cried out “Glenfiddich” while making love.

Your beer back comes with a tap.

You conduct weekly “assisted short-term flight” experiments every weekend. With the help of various bouncers.

You’re regularly mobbed by autograph hungry alley winos.

You were the first person in line at the flu clinic because you heard they were giving away free shots.

You like tequila with a lime — or dirt, or a hamster or whatever, so long as there’s tequila involved.

You come home sober and your dog bites you.

The cafeteria in the detox center has a sandwich named after you.

You can’t recognize your best friend unless he’s leaning against a bar. With a drink in his hand. Drunk.

You like a splash of coffee in your morning whiskey.

You can blow a .08 BAC from twenty feet away.

You take swim trunks to brewery tours.

You’re kept awake at night by the sound of your liver crying.

You prefer cold showers because the ice in your drink doesn’t melt as fast.

You’re shocked and confounded to discover they actually sell Coke without Jack Daniels.

When a cop asks you to walk a straight line, you ask, “Which one?”

You tried getting out of a DUI by putting a beer label on your arm and telling the cop you’re off the booze and on the patch.

You woke up on New Years Eve with the resolution of finding out which bars open earliest.

Get mad when your family calls you a
wino because they know damn well you prefer whiskey.

You’re definition of a problem drinker is guy who won’t buy you a round.

You hate the person you become when you black out, because, you know, that fucker drinks all your beer.

You know hangovers only last a day, but a good drinking story lives on forever.

You don’t like to think of it as blacking out. You prefer to think of it as exercising the lizard brain.

The only useful thing you got out of an A.A. meeting was learning how to identify your enablers. Because, hey, those guys are most likely to buy you a drink.

You distrust any wine that doesn’t give you a decent hangover.

A good drinking buddy will bail you out of jail, but a great drinking buddy will be sitting in the cell beside you, saying, “Man, that was awesome!”

The last words you remember each night are, “Hold my beer and watch this!”

You’re disappointed when you go to a funeral and there’s no keg.

You refer to your mouth as your “booze hole.”

You’ve told Jehovah’s Witnesses, “Of course, I want to go to Heaven. I’m sure it’s awesome. God does pick up the tab every night, right?”

You once got so drunk you dreamed you got fired and broke up with your girlfriend — and it all came true!

You regularly ask bartenders, “So, how are the spill mats looking tonight? Anything good in there?”

Someone tells you they don’t drink anymore, and you bravely respond, “Don’t worry about it, buddy, I’ll take up your slack!”

You prefer vodka that comes in the handy plastic squeeze-size bottles.

The bartender asks for your I.D. just to see how long it'll take you to find your pants.

Two weeks into the bender you found out “Drink Canada Dry” was a corporate slogan, not a challenge.

For the money you’ve spent on Thunderbird, you could have bought the car.

You know that vodka is tasteless going down, but memorable coming up.

You say when your drunk what you think when you’re sober.

You know the best beer in the world is the one in your hand.

Beer does not make you fat. It makes you lean— against bars, poles and tables.

You always drink Irish Coffee for breakfast because it contains all four adult food groups: fat, sugar, caffeine and alcohol.

You don't drink anymore . . . of course, you don't drink any less, either.

Your bartender never has to ask, “Do you want another?”

You recognize that vomiting is just the body’s way of making room for another round.

You distrust camels or anything else that can go a week without a drink.

You're favorite method of dieting is the “Slim Jim”: Ultra Slim-Fast shakes made with Jim Beam.

Absolut wants to run an ad featuring a picture of your liver in the shape of a bottle.

You only drink to get rid of hangovers, and sometimes it takes all night.

You know if you give up drinking you won’t actually live longer — it’ll just seem like longer.

You spend ninety percent of your paycheck on drinking and waste the rest.

You fell down two flights of stairs and didn’t spill a drop.

You don’t mind blacking out because it makes Sunday confession much less embarrassing.

When you wake up hungover you’re afraid you’ll die. Half an hour later you’re afraid you’ll live.

You wonder why people need friends when you can just sit in a room and drink all day.

You believe the only Absolut(e) in life is vodka.

You went on a diet, swore off drinking and bar food, and in fourteen days you lost two weeks.

Booze may not be the answer, but it helps you to forget the question.

You exist in a perfect Zen circle: you drink because your wife nags and she nags because you drink.

You got so drunk on St. Patrick’s day it seemed like every other day.

You must have a drink by eleven, it’s a deed that must be done. If you can’t have a drink by eleven, you must have eleven by one.

If a man gave you a fish and you’d eat for a day. If he taught you to fish you’d sit in a boat and drink beer all day.

If it weren’t for the olives in your martinis, you’d starve to death.

When your spirits get low, you use a straw.

You’d go on the wagon, but can’t find one with a bar.

You always cook with wine. Sometimes you even add it to the food.

You drink a bottle of wine everyday. Unless you’re sick. Then you drink two.

You refer to grapes as “wine eggs.”

You can walk into a 7-11 at 2am, look at the cheese dog that’s been mutating on the grill since 8am and think, “Man, that looks tasty!”

You know liquor gets better with age, because the older you get the more you like it.

You only drink to steady your nerves. Sometimes you get so steady you have to be carried out.

You drink to make other people appear cool enough to hang out with you.

Quitting drinking is the easiest thing in the world. You’ve done it a thousand times.

You have a reserved parking space at four different liquor stores.

You woke up feeling really strange, then realized you didn’t have a hangover.

With a bottle of Passport Scotch and a suitcase of Stroh’s you can go on vacation without ever leaving your house.

You never drink anything stronger than vodka before breakfast.

You make a point of never drinking before noon. Which is convenient, because you’re never up before three in the afternoon.

One of your hobbies is sitting down and calculating exactly how much liquor your next paycheck would buy at the liquormart. Just out of curiosity, of course.

Your co-workers start whispering with concern when you don’t come in with hangover.

Your boss tells you to “Shape up or ship out,” and you reply, “You mean like a cruise ship? Are the drinks expensive on cruise ships?”

The whole terrorism deal became very clear to you when you found out muslims aren’t allowed to drink.

You wish you were closer to Jesus, especially when he’s doing his wine to water thing.

A cold cement floor looks comfortable and inviting.

You wish temperance leagues still sang anti-drinking religious hymns outside bars, because, you know, it’d be a very funny thing to watch while getting hammered.

You think alcohol-fueled automobiles are the wave of the future because, hey, it certainly works for you.

You think a wrong number is an adequate excuse to go on a bender.

“Going out for a beer or two” sometimes means waking up in Vegas three days later.

You hated Ted Kennedy until you realized he can probably outdrink you.

You always confuse the words picture and pitcher, especially when someone says, “Hey, take my picture.”

You happen to share the same home town, ethnicity, lifestyle, opinions, occupation or whatever-the-hell of whoever happens to be buying the drinks.

You consider vodka a chaser.

Your roommates say good morning to you and you haven’t been to bed yet.

You volunteered to work for free for NASA when you heard about the gas clouds in space containing billions of gallons of alcohol.

You know a bottle of Jack under your bed is worth a million bottles in the liquor store after midnight.

You have told a bartender: “I didn’t hear anyone yell last call. How could I? I was in the bathroom, vomiting in your urinal.”

Half the bouncers in town know exactly how much you weigh.

You know that time is never wasted when you’re wasted all the time.

You use Calvin Klien’s new aftershave, but don’t really care for the aftertaste.

You refer to your mouth as your “booze hole.”

You wish bartenders would spend more time ‘tending’ and less time ‘barring.’

The first thing you say when you walk in a bar is, “I’m not still 86’d, am I?”

You’d go to Mass more often if they weren’t so stingy with the wine.

When you were in high school you had a poster of W.C. Fields on your bedroom wall.

You drank ten bottles of wine last week and didn’t need a corkscrew once.

You prefer Hamm’s and eggs for breakfast, minus the eggs.

The rotgut whiskey you buy is so disgusting you have to drink the first half the bottle just so you’ll be drunk enough to put up with the taste of the second half.

Whenever someone starts reading a bottle of Jack Daniels you say, “Quit cheating!”

You don’t sniff the cork, you chew it.

Your career is interfering with your drinking.

You get so drunk Bud Light starts tasting like beer.

You read this magazine until you fall asleep, then use it as a blanket.

You heard you get drunker at higher altitudes so you always drink on top of the dumpster.

Your alarm clock is a garbage truck.

You’ve worked out a devious plot to steal Einstein’s brain. So you can drink the alcohol it’s stored in.

You masturbate to the liquor ads in Playboy.

You show up at the flu clinic to investigate rumors of "free shots."

You have a born-on date tattooed on your beer gut.

You hold a bottle of hair spray and say, "Man, if you were ice cold."

You're addressed by three separate liquor store owners as "the guy who paid for my houseboat."

You often confuse the word breakfast with Bloody Marys, i.e., "What are we going to have for Bloody Marys this morning?"

You know that liquor is especially tasty when it comes from the secret hiding place in your roommates's closet.

You can, in a pinch, construct a fully-operational keg tap from a cigarette lighter, two clothespins and lots of love.

You get in a heated conversation with your barstool neighbor about the proper way to vomit from a moving vehicle.

At 2am you proclaim, "The party ain't over until the fat lady says no!"

You need a cosigner to open a bar tab.

The monkey on your back is in rehab.

You know that, with a bouncer's assistance, man in capable of short-term flight.

You have recurring dream you're hired by the Guinness\Playboy Research foundation to prove twenty pints a day improves your sex life.

You often take your lover for romantic strolls among the picturesque aisles of liquor superstores.

You will eat a bug for a shot.

You know wine is mentioned in the Bible over 250 times. Perrier? Not once!

You have strained cigarette-butt infested beer through your teeth.

You consider 3.2 beer on Sunday as Uncle Sam's cruel taunt.

You can hear someone whisper "free beer" from three blocks away.

You know the heartbreak of watching the bartender dump the spill tray.

You call the bartending academy, inquiring as to what they do with their mistakes.

You refer to your refrigerator as "the stand-up beer cooler."

You give directions with liquor stores and bars the the major landmarks, i.e., "You'll pass Argonaut's Liquors on the left and Scooter's on the right, then turn right on the street between the Satire Lounge and the Lion's Lair, then continue until you see the tree that looks like a huge martini glass."

You think vomiting is the body's way of making room for the next round.

The first thing you look for on a wine label is the alcohol content.

You consider Aqua Velvet a daring after-hours liqueur.

You recognize last call as a secret signal that all unattended drinks are fair game.

When someone says "expensive wine," you think "gallon jug."

Four years of research and three hours of writing went into your masterful college thesis, "MD 20\20: Self-Esteem Enhancer For the Leisure Classes, or Cancer Cure for the Working Masses?"