Today I stopped by the office to pick up some supplies for the weekend. We have a mailing going out and the assorted temp staff huddled in the conference room stuffing envelopes. The fantastic thing about living in a city like LA is the abundance of on-call lackeys. Need some crap work done? Call your buddy the actor or model (or writer? Gasp!) and have them put in some hours for a paycheck made out to cash.
Working for a global retailer of safer sex products also provides a wonderful opportunity to meet some very interesting people.
Since I didn't feel like getting anything done with the exception of a little shopping, I was pulled into the envelope parade by the sound of riotous laughter.
"Rachel will you shut up, you're cackling like an idiot!" I bellowed as I entered the conference room. "Now get to work and tell me what was so damn funny."
I don't know what the conversation was leading up to this statement, but Rachel informed me that one of the sketchy gay boys helping out for the day claimed that he was a freak, a porn star, and that he didn't give a shit, he'd fuck in the street.
One of my co-workers overheard as he passed the office, and poked his head in. "You're a porn star?" he asked with interest.
Rachel laughed heartily again, and wondered aloud if it was because he was hung like a donkey or if he got plowed really well.
"I'm guessing power bottom." I said flatly as I turned my glare toward the sketchy gay boy. He confirmed.
Later he gave me a demonstration in the bathroom.
Another crazy, stressful, busy, hellish week over with, FFF!!
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bOi21: write anything wonderful today?
Fergie: i'm actually updating my weblog right now
bOi21: cool
Fergie: but its not wonderful its about puke
bOi21: hahah
bOi21: i tried to start writing again last night.. but only got one line, and that seemed to sum it all up
Fergie: well its good to be concise
bOi21: haha
bOi21: I lost my mind last night at the In and Out drive through
Fergie: did you find it?
Fergie: ..i hate it when i loose stuff..
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Did you know you can make yourself throw up if you bend at the waist just right (or wrong, depending on how you look at it)..?
It's true.
The same thing happens if you stick your finger down your throat. That should be a little more obvious. Don't try to see how far you can stick your finger back there without gagging, either.
Trust me. The moment you realize you've crossed the line of tolerance your hand is a sick mitt.
As a rule, I don't vomit. I'd actually prefer to pass out and have my stomach pumped. The bend at the waist self-inducing regurgitation thing throws a bit of a curveball into this plan.
Earlier today, I bent over to pick up a pen and felt the chunks slowly rising in my throat. I quickly snapped back upright with perfect poise, but a teeny weenie little bit of tummy rumble had bubbled to the top.
Fucking great! Even though I didn't spew, I had throw-up in my mouth. The whole point of having a "don't puke" rule is to avoid the taste of bile. Really not cool.
To make matters far, far worse, having something on the back of my tongue, I instinctively swallowed. The very thought of swallowing puke almost made me puke. I swallowed puke!
At least it was my own.
My friend Spike swears there is a place called Munchkinville, where the little people live.
I've told him time and time again it's just a movie, but after doing a little research on the internet (first return from google) it turns out he was right.
I never knew. All this time I've been laughing and calling him names. Turns out Munchkinville is all over the net, and everyone knows that information found on the web is completely trustworthy. Why would it be in writing if it wasn't a fact?
I'll never question Spike again.
I was, of course, only kidding about the broom. Do you really think I soar through the sky on a damn stick of wood? That's just taking things too far. Besides, the only one around here who knows how to sell things on ebay is kitty.
So I'm back behind the wheel for a few weeks. I've forgotten how much fun it is to drive! Even more fun is running stop signs and honking at pedestrians.
Remind me never to have kids.
As it turns out, under the conditions of my probation I'm unable to assume guardianship of any individual under the age of 18. Can't really picture myself doing diaper duty anyway. Looks like I'll have to continue to send expensive gifts to buy their love and admiration.
When mommy Glitter is in town next month we'll have lots of shopping, bar hopping, and car jacking to do, so we don't need anyone slowing us down or cramping our style. Sorry kiddies!
Meanwhile, I hadn't been using my car for months and decided to sell it on ebay for a little pocket money before the holidays. Since driver is out of town I've had to resort to pulling my broom out of the closet.
re: note to fergie
Dear Glitter Queen,
Of course we're legends on the strip, we had our own show in Vegas as "Crippled Sonny & Drag Queen Cher." The big laugh line was that even in your wheelchair you were still taller than the real Sonny Bono. He's dead now so we can't make fun of him. Let's call him the real talent behind the duo even though we all know where his career went. Our show was called to fill in over a long weekend because the previous act the hotel booked had to cancel after every single cast member mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs. It was a very fortunate turn for us because we needed to buy drugs (prescription) and cigarettes after loosing a ton of gold bricks at the roulette table.
After all those long hours I forced you and dozens of homeless children to work on my rhinestone y-back dress and matching veil, I can hardly believe you forgot about our wedding. It was, of course, just a promotional stunt to sell out the show. Then again, you were doing a lot of acid at the time. That shit really fucks with your sense of reality, not to mention made you grow sideburns and a moustache as a side effect.
You don't mean to say you've forgotten about the autographed photo of me as "Turn Back Time" Cher that we gave to your mother? She actually thought it was the real Cher. My G-d, we were both so thin and gorgeous back then!
I still am. You've had two kids and continue to look like you did when you were twenty. That brings me to my next topic, my dear Glittering Barbie Queen. I received a bill from our old friend doctor, the plastic surgeon, to the tune of eight hundred thousand fifty-one dollars and seven cents. Seven cents! All I can say is thank G-d driver is an indentured servant or I might have had to cut him out of the budget this month.
It seems that after I introduced you to my friend Demi, you've become quite obsessed with buying the perfect body. Just keep in mind that while Demi does indeed look fucking fabulous, she also has the arm fat under her pits removed in all photos, even snapshots.
The first several purchases on the bill that reference breasts I understand. After being in full bloom twice, I think you have a right to maintain cleavage. However, silicon water bras form fitted to your body don't come cheap, missy!
As to the rest of the bill, I know we'd discussed having the skin on our elbows lifted, but I've told you time and time again: 1) use body oil, and 2) everything you use on your face, use on the neck, elbows, and ass. This line item is pretty minor, though quadruple since you also had your knees done. I can let that one go as an xtra xmas gift as long as you tell me how much it hurt.
That's on a scale of man-twinge, not childbirth. I refuse to have a lower GI just to find out what "10" really feels like. I have a good imagination. All I need to know is if the pain is more or less than getting all dressed up to go shopping and realizing the big "everything for a dollar" sale at Gucci was last week.
There is also something on the bill about having the webbing between Trusty's toes removed. I don't even want to know. Please don't explain. Actually, I do have one question.. Since Trusty was obviously tested on as a baby and genetically modified for swimming purposes, can he breathe under water too? If so, send pictures (we all know fish don't wear swimming trunks, he shouldn't either. Nature is beautiful and naked. If he gives you any lip about it tell him not to question the naked beauty of nature. And make sure the water is nice and warm). The money spent on the procedure is covered under the "aquatic loved ones" clause of my lifetime contract with the good doctor and the institute of eternal youth & beauty.
Fortunately for you, the fake marriage certificate provided proof of kin and allows you to continue to put these items on my tab. We met doctor in Vegas, remember? He removed your freakish sideburns and nasty upper lip hair. It should all be coming back to you any minute now..
Don't worry, with the state of our nation's health care and cosmetic surgery centers, no one will ever catch the certificate. If they do, you might spend a few years in the clink for fraud. All you have to know is that I love you. I'm working on two new retail projects for 04, so spend away, sweetie.
I'm sending this letter with driver across country while he works another gig. He can't be with me all the time, he has a wife and seventeen children to support. When he's wrapped that up, he'll deliver this letter in person. Isn’t mail by limo delivery so much cooler than USPS? Of course by then you'll have read this online. In fact it won't be for another week.
Anyway, driver will bring you back to LA so we can visit my new doctor. Last week I had a lovely chat with Madonna in his waiting room while Lourdes was getting some collagen in her bottom lip to accentuate her pout. That little girl is going to be vicious and fierce. In a good way.
Just thinking of the little precious gem with her painful, sullen scowl does remind me that I have to spend some quality time with your little angels in their formative years so they develop the proper gay sensibilities. As though most of that hasn't been inherited already. You do remember you're half dyke, right? The parts of you I really miss are those I hardly know. How about summer vacations with Uncle Fergie in LA? Madonna suggested a really great Kabbalah summer school that I bet two little girls from the bible belt would love more than ponies. Remember sweetie, even more than being black and full blooded American Indian, we are above all else Jewish.
Before I go, I just want to thank you for the fabulous xmas gift you sent this past holiday. I love my little baby penguin! Just one question, what do penguins eat?
..and so then..
As I mentioned in my last entry, racial slurs and peeing in dumpsters proceeded our visit to our good friend Canada (pronounced Cah-nay-dee-ahh) and getting shitfaced in a casino.
While there, the divine Glitter Queen & I raged in full form. As usual, a complete bubble surrounded us in our misanthropic adventures, and we didn’t give a shit about anyone stupid enough to cross our path. People had a choice. They could either go along with Sonny & Cher or whatever names we'd made up for ourselves that evening, or they could just leave us on our merry way. Those that chose to tangle with our hurricane have stories to tell and scars to show for it.
And some just happened to be within earshot of our chaos. One of our favorite games to play while inebriated in public is "Pick a Fight." The game is quite simple. It begins with any derogatory remark made between players. In the case of the Queen and I, the game could start at any given moment. It just takes that one extra push.
While in a long row between slot machines and only a stool away from a little old gambling lady, the Queen took it there. I don't remember what I said to her, but she suddenly shot back "Shut-up! Stop telling me what to do, you asshole! You always yell at me when you're drunk (she paused to wipe a fake tear), and you're always drunk!"
The blue-hair next to us held her coin and shifted her hearing aid in our direction. I turned it up for her. "Oh that's it!" I bellowed so loud that the couple three rows over heard the squawk of feedback from her earpiece.
I looked the Queen square in her six eyes, found my footing, held onto a slot machine for balance and hissed, "the wedding is off!"
It looked like someone had goosed the old lady. I went in for the kill.
"I don't care if you are.. having.. my baby!"
I stormed off to cruise the bathroom. In my absence, the old lady gave the Queen her cup full of coin earnings and hobbled off with a tear in her eye.
"Why'd she do that?" I asked, as we were waiting for our drinks at the bar, provided by the old lady's winnings. "Is that how her fiancée dumped her or something? Talk about issues.."
"I think it was the wheelchair that put her over the edge." Her majesty quipped in martini deadpan.
"You mean you're crippled?" I gasped. "Sweet baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph, all this time I thought you were just lazy!"
We laughed and laughed and promised to get a place close to one another in hell. I have my eye on some prime hillside property by the lake of fire. Spare room with wheelchair access. I just couldn't imagine damnation without my Queen.
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During our college days, the lovely Glitter Queen and I used to take many road trips all over NorthWest America. This included Canada because unlike the laws that governed us in the States, it's legal to drink and gamble at 19 when visiting our neighbor up north.
One of our trips was MLK weekend. Halfway through the scary ass backwoods of Michigan in Bible Belt Whitey Land, we had a wee-wee emergency and tried to use the bathroom at a gas station, but the evil bitch attendant wouldn’t let us.
"It's because I'm black, isn't it?" I yelled indignantly.
Everything was racist or sexist in those days, but only in circumstances that didn't apply to being a flaming homosexual or a gimp.
The Queen and I both screamed with laughter when the attendant didn't get our joke and then peed in a trash can out back.
fan mail.
To: Fergie
From: Barry
Hi. Saw your website and think you're handsome. And what's a "naked party"? That sounds really hot. Mind if I tag along? Let me know. Thanks....
From: Fergie
hi barry, thanks for your email.. as you may have guessed a "naked party" is a fun social gathering where everyone takes off their clothes. maybe i will invite you to my next orgy. i mean naked party. happy new year
From: Barry
Fergie, hello. Thanks for your reply. That would be great. Please invite me. Keep my address on file, if you would. Talk with you soon. Take care.
The infamous Missing Kitty episode..
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Kitty knows something...she's just not telling. I'd watch her very, very carefully. She may be planning her next big escape!!
- CJ
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Kitty did a bad thing.
Any cat person knows cats are like, way smarter than dogs. Kitty's waiting for me at the door whenever I come home, despite my sincere lack of a routine schedule. She happily greets me and tells me all about her adventures as Karate Kat; her deadly flying ninja assain alter ego. My baby's a little crazy, but she has good stories and soft warm fur.
When I returned to the apartment after stuffing the back of the limo with bags from shopping at the Grove all afternoon, Kitty didn't greet me at the door. Sometimes Super Ninja Assain Kitty thinks I'm an imposter robot version of myself sent to kill her and blow up the apartment. After several calls, I clicked my new cell phone on high beam and used the light to flash under the bed. She had her classic I-didn't-do-nothing! shock expression on her face.
Kitties may be smart, but they're bad liars. Animals are honest. Except squirrels. They're evil.
"I - I didn't hear you come in! I was just sleeping!" Kitty exclaimed, poorly acting.
I checked the apartment for poop.
So far, nothing. I would have smelled cat urine at the door, so I know she didn't piss on anything. She only did that once in my laundry basket and that was because it was dark and she was confused. We'd had a few drinks that night.
Otherwise, nothing. No cat puke in the corners. The baby penguin in the walk-in freezer is fine, so she didn't eat him. Did I mention I got a baby penguin for xmas? He's so cute! Fortunately the walk-in is adjacent to mr. bill's empty room, so I'm having it expanded.
Meanwhile, Kitty is keeping it pretty low.
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This morning I spent twenty minutes on the phone with my roommate. We were both at home, just too hung over to get out of bed.
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Grandpa Fergie's famous shortcut to Paduka, KY.
Sometimes getting lost of part of the journey. My grandfather is well known for his shortcuts that often lead to new and uncharted places. Years ago, when we were all still in high-school and living at home, my brothers and I went on winter vacation with Grandpa & Grandma Fergie. It was the ultimate road trip.
What started as a pit stop on our way to Knoxville soon became the inescapable focus of this little tale. After leaving a small town called Paduka, the five of us got more than a little off track on the back roads and spent the rest of the day winding through the Kentucky wilderness. Miles and miles of road stretched through nothing. I mean nothing like civilization, plenty of ice covered trees that all start to look alike after awhile. Five hours later as the sun began to fall, we finally saw another town. It was Paduka, KY.
Grandma Fergie howled with laughter and said "Well, looks like they're gonna have to send our belongings to us, because we're never gonna get out of this damn town!"
And now in the present time, as much as I would have liked to stay on my mental vacation, I suppose life has a way of catching up with us all sooner or later. Not to mention I was deported. So here I am, back to reality and back at the keyboard..
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© copyright Wes Ferguson
2001-2006
