Sunday, January 19, 2003|
I WANT TO BE POPE®.
I want to be Pope®. I want Pope® shoes and Pope® socks and Pope® shorts and Pope® t-shirts and Pope® Hats. All made by Supermodel Nuns at an undisclosed location but one that affords sun most of the Year. The convent would be called Our Lady of the Runway and they’d all wear Habits by Gaultier and smoke cigarettes during communion. But their Number One Calling in life, other than one day becoming a Serious Actress, would be to make clothes for me, the Pope®. I’d have to change my name. Pope® Hugh sounds like a sneeze and I’d prefer to adopt the traditional Peter. Mainly because Peter is a Dirty Word yet everyone would be forced to say it over and over in front of me. I ‘d look up from under the brim of my Stylin'’ New Pope® Hat and make my patented Pope® look that says “You just said Peter.” But Pope® Peter would be the talk of the town, BP®OC - Big Pope® On Campus. Lounging in the Quad in my glamorous yet comfortable Pope® robe, high-fiving the guys on the Cardinal Team. Chatting to Father Frank about his marriage to Father Bill. Yes, it’s true. Now that I’m Pope®, there’s gonna be some changes and I’ll spill one now, since you’re buddies with me, the Pope®. Priests can get married. Yup, fasten your seatbelts. They can get married cause Pope® Peter said they could. I decided priests can be in a loving sexual relationship because to love someone like that, no matter who, is a-whole-nother Flavor of God not always listed with the Other 33. Love’s like that. You should express God in that dress, not the dress that makes your butt look fat. IMHP®O, that plan sucked. But no more. Not with me, Pope® Peter. At Chateau Du Pope®, aka The Vatican, we would have Big Ol’ Masses. Thousands of people would come to Shake It and frankly, who gives a better party than me, Pope® Peter? Etta James would sing and everyone would have a Big Foam Rubber Hand that says “Over here!”. All the hands would be jiving and all the people would be saying “Look at me! Over here!” “Pope® Peter’s in the house!” “Pope® Peter’s in the house!” “Pope® Peter!” “Pope ®Peter!” “Pope® Peter!” “Pope® Peter!” “Pope® Penis!” “Pope ®Penis!” They’d all stop, because they said a Dirty Word. I’d pull down the edge of my Pope® Hat, pull out my grooving Pope® Sunglasses and say, “You’re absolved!” You know why? Because that’s my job. I’m Pope® Peter, the Pope®. 7:02:09 PM  sro home /
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ON SWITCH Seven o'clock on a Saturday night and I'm at the Apple Store. How pathetic is that whole sentence? However, the place was packed and the joint was jumping. The young sales staff, on the other hand, take their cue from the Stoner Apple Switch Ads and loiter around touching things and looking bored. After about five minutes of that, I'd had it. "Excuse me, who's the manager?" "She's downstairs." He then gave me The Look that says "Please go away now so I can pretend like I'm working." I turned the Consumer Gun to Stun, deflecting His Look and returning a Mega-Look. He choked. "Uh, she's got Blond Hair." Finally, after I mentally extracted his last nail, "Her name's Amy!" "Why don't you show me." My Sale's Slave reluctantly led me to a woman talking on the phone who indeed had Blond Hair before he pointed to her and scurried off. Traitor. She hung up the phone. "Can I help you sir?" "Who do I have to fuck to get help here?" Ok, I admit that was a little strong. A little Sex In The City-ish. Remember though, these opportunites don't present themselves often and to not Carpe Diem the crap out of it would have been wasteful. "Well... me, I guess." I explained how I was there to just buy something, cash ready, and noone would help and blah, blah, blah. Amy was incredibly gracious as if she handled Big Annoyed Queers every day (other than the ones who work for her) and in the middle of my story, I stopped and touched her arm. "I'm really sorry about the Big Entrance. I was just frustrated." Turns out she's a Jersey Girl and was fine with it. I was thereafter kowtowed to and brown-nosed and given a Personal Sales Slave of my own (also named Amy) who took more than better care of my Selfish Needs.
After giving both Amys a peck on the cheek (and after my Playtime with Glamazons, see post further down), I left a happer camper. |
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ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY/JAN.24-31- GUIDE TO 2003 |
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SUNDAY MORNING, 2:39 AM OMG, I just discovered I bought the wrong kind of cookies today! Damn! I was so psyched for the Malamars. Where the fuck is Barbara Eden? How wrecked am I?
Sweet Dreams, Peggy. |
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SUPERSTAR TROOPERS
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REAL LIFE RADIO 1. The Donnas on Saturday Night Live - Freaked out hard-core rock and roll chicks. How could you not? The Breeders via Ghost Story with some Deborah Harry thrown in. "Take It Off" indeed. 2. Sinead O'Conner's "The Emperor's New Clothes" - Almost Pop at the Corner Cafe during lunch. I wanted to dance and Peggy just wanted left overs. 3.The Rolling Stones Concert on HBO - Old men doing their thing and letting most current bands eat their dust. Mick Jagger looks like Lily Tomlin after three weeks of crystal meth but damn, work. 4. Thievery Corporation - Guido - Salsa from Tea Dance on Mykanos. Music to get horny over.
5. Michelle Branch and Santana - "The Game of Love" - Take all of the above - fierce chicks, old men, salsa and dance fever. Shake well. Turn it up and hit repeat. |
Last update: 6/3/08; 11:26:09 PM .
