I am afraid of my Inner Drag Queen! Don’t laugh, you have one too.

Okay — a few quick things I feel I need to get out of the way:

1) I am not a drag queen, I have no interest in being one and don’t typically dress up in women’s clothing, though I obviously have. See my profile picture — both are me. I also have nothing against drag queens and recently enjoyed one of the best drag shows I have seen in New Orleans @ Lucky Pierre’s

2) I am an out gay man LEGALLY married

3) No, I don’t know Caitlyn Jenner nor do I understand more than you about the Transgender community. Though I am learning all I can — Fascinating.

Now that we have that out of the way — I joined Medium to see if perhaps this was the venue where I could let out my Inner-Drag Queen fly her freak flag loud and proud. Well, why not? It worked for Paul Rudnick writing as Libby Gelman-Waxner for years.

Look, we all have an Inner Drag Queen. Come on, think about it. She emerges when you have had one too many glasses of wine or when you’re royally pissed off. Suddenly the caustic venom spews out of your mouth and once it starts it’s damn near impossible to turn off the spigot. Later as you leave those who dared to interrupt or challenge you licking their lacerations inflicted by your razor-forked tongue, you think, “What the hell just happened?” Well, okay, maybe it’s not that extreme for some of you, but I bet you can relate.

Maybe your behavior embarrassed you. Maybe you think you’re the Dog’s Bollocks and maybe you’re wondering why no one invites you out anymore. Which brings us back to purpose of this post. I am going to let her out now and see what happens. Okay here goes…Gosh, I am a little nervous.

Well you should be bitch. God you make me want to vomit, but I refuse to waist good Chardonnay. Don’t judge me! I’ve been drinking since last night — it all started when I saw this sign that said, “RuPaul for President”. I thought I died and gone to that giant tiara in the sky. Well, come on! It’s not that far fetched. We have a black man in the oval now; there is a Jew and a woman fighting for the nomination on one side and the three stooges on the other. I think RuPaul would make a fabulous president. Can you imagine her first cabinet meeting? Okay everyone, you know what to do, and for God’s sake don’t fuck it up. — LOVE HER! But then I put on my glasses and I realized the sign said, “Rand Paul for President”. Talk about a buzz kill. So then I had to break into my emergency stash — been drinking my box of wine through a straw ever since. I am so depressed and my lipstick is a mess. Well, yours would be too if the only mirror in your house was a disco ball.

Whenever I am depressed I look to my hero, Joan Rivers. God Bless that Woman’s Soul! So, can we talk?

First of all — you idiot politicians have no one to blame but yourselves for Donald Trump. The American People are sick and tired of being treated like idiots who are expected to blindly swallow meaningless sound bytes created by lobbyists and their think tanks. Think Tanks — That just slays me. These people are paid to sit around and think — and this is the kind of crap they come up with. I once formed a think tank with some girlfriends. We came up with a bunch of great ideas, like: Every Friday should be glitter day, bar glasses should be much larger (so those of us with larger hands look more petite) and skinny models should all die slow and very painful deaths. We were really on a role until Anita Cocktail and Juana Dong got in a fist fight over the delivery man’s phone number.

I am getting tired now so I think it’s time for a disco nap.

Peace Out Bitches — y’all try and love one another, and maybe if I ever get out again we can talk some more. Let’s close on a positive thought, as Joan often said,

“Thank God we’re living in a country where the sky’s the limit, the stores are open late and you can shop in bed thanks to television.”

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