Drag Queen has a Girlfriend

Young and sassy, Drag Queen's girlfriend wears tight tight shorts with tits that stand out and say, "Hello!"

Drag Queen likes having her girlfriend with her. Drag Queen likes to stand with her hands pressing the small of her back as if her ping-pong knobs were a world of hurt to carry and chat. Apparently, the girlfriend has no problem suspending ten pounds each of tit. She just lets them bounce and flop.

That, Drag Queen does hate. No matter how Drag Queen shakes, her tits don't move much. No need to though, Drag Queen's got a big ole' booty and shakes, 'that thing'. Still, tits are tits and Girlfriend, she has them in plenty.

They were inspecting the trash. Drag Queen was showing her what barrels usually have the best trash, which have dead dogs and those that might have a bauble or two. Drag Queen knows trash.

The West Bunker has a new Jihad Party Boy. He is fat, the usual case for the west bunker, the east bunker is more lean. With a Burgundy skull-cap. He is a wearer of the cheap black suit outfit and cheap shoes. The Jihad Party Boys need to be to have enough money to keep Drag Queen and Girlfriend happy. Pinch a tit and squeeze a butt, with a butt flosser or two thrown in can cost Jihadist Party Boys plenty.

Drag Queen knows her trash and Girlfriend is learning the ropes.

The Swoop of the Great Horned Owl

He has a camera for a brain. With it, he sees all and reports back to me. His plastic eyes shine a yellow-black.

"Who?" he asks.

"The Ultra-conservative Zionists. What happened to them?"

Great Horned Owl turns his neck completely around, his eyes glowing and the shutters clicking. His wings expand and beat the air, taking him up high. He goes east, west, north and south. In an hour he is back on his perch.

I look into his yellow-black eyes and see what he saw. The Ultra Zionists are in Arizona. Waves of migrant workers are desperate to get out. The Ultra Zionists see opportunity. Masses of poor, uneducated people, desperate to survive the capitalist boot, are willing to enslave themselves to the Ultra-Zionists. They will sell themselves to butcher for the Ultras. They will gladly work long hours for little pay to survive the heel of Imperialism.

The sheriff of Maricopa, and how ironic, is set to imprison entire families to throw into the Gulf of Mexico and stop the oil leak taking money from the Capitalists, the Imperialist who have the guns and the money to harm us all.

"Very sad, Great Horned Owl. Are we safe?"

"Who?"

Slaughter of Cyclops the Cyst

It was terrible, Cyclops the cyst had no where to go, surrounded by ultra-conservative Zionists in the back of an RV, it felt the pinches of their long bony fingers. The ultra-conservative Zionists squeezed the life from the cyst like canned cheese onto a matzo cracker. Milking the filthy thing of its putrid matter. The cyst cried out, begging to be let go, but the ultra-conservative Zionists kept at it until the cyst was empty and the bellies of the ultra-conservatives were full.

Screams from the cyst were lost in the awful lip smacking noise of ultra-conservative Zionists eating the goo that leaked from the squeezed cyst. Its pitiful wale resounded as the RV drove slowly down the alley carrying away the ultra-conservatives and leaving Drag Queen with her Jihad Party Boys. Party boys that have shekels and in want to sniff her butt flossers. She now controlled the Western Bunker and ready to attack the Eastern site when she was ready.

Village Idiot grunted at all the going on in the alley. He snorted and sniffed the air, then licked his armpit. His wife smacked him for it but he did it again until she took her shoe off and beat him with it.

The Lady of the Forest rejoiced and had many men come into her forest for it had a sweet smell now that the cyst was removed.

Mean Queen felt betrayed. She had plans for the ultra-conservative Zionists. But Daddy was happy, his larder now safe from the ever hungry and very poor Zionists.

Now the East Bunker waits. Waits for the plans of Drag Queen and the Party Boys.

The Exodus

A large RV loaded up the ultra-conservatives and whisked them off. Enticed by Drag Queen when she threw Cyclops the Cyst into the RV, the ultra-conservatives followed and once all were in, tearing at the cyst, the party boys nailed the back shut and off they drove.

Drag Queen is now performing the Dance of the Seven Butt Flossers. She has her night club act and plenty of kopecks for the eunuch to snatch up. The ecstasy customers are happy, the party boys are happy and Drag Queen is rid of the nasty cyst and the nastier ultra-conservatives.

The bunkers have been quiet now that business is booming and butt-flossers are being grabbed and sniffed. The Great Horned Owl with the camera brain has settled for the night, the hood is quiet.

The Party Boys

Some customers came today at the Western Bunker. The bunker of Drag Queen. She was at the Eastern bunker and came back after the customers left. Obviously, Drag Queen's plan is to starve the Ultra-Conservative Zionist from the Western Bunker.

I could hear them groaning for a crust of matzo cracker. Bending back and forth, spouting in their Middle Eastern spit-gibberish for manna. No manna came for them, the customers came for Ecstasy and to see the Dance of the Seven Butt Flossers. The customers have money and Ultra-Conservative Zionist have zip. A Koppel perhaps if they turned Moshe over and shook him until his shoes fell off.

No dance by Drag Queen. She came on the scene when a very thin lad in a skull-cap and a brown bag of goodies got in his car and left. Then Drag Queen sashayed back to Western Bunker. Her big ass hanging out a pair of skin-tight jeans and halter top. She knows trash and Drag Queen will not tolerate Ultra Zionist who won't even pay to squeeze a cyst. Fuckin-A.

Drag Queen will eat tonight in front of the Ultra Zionist. She will have the eunuch peel her grapes and when she hears the Ultra Zionist's cries, will toss them the cyst to eat. She is tired of the nasty thing and when the Ultra Zionists have tried every Yiddish curse known, they will turn on the cyst and devour it.

The Western Bunker

Not all is quiet at the west bunker. Late last night an argument ensued involving some heavy use of Middle Eastern spit-gibberish. It was the ultra-Conservative Zionist Jihads. Far more serious than the Zionist Jihad Party Boys, they have strict laws and demand obedience.

Drag Queen's fate hangs in the scale. The ultra-Conservative Zionist dislike the Dance of the Seven Butt Flossers. They want to squeeze Cyclops the Cyst but not pay for the pleasure. Drag Queen would sooner squish the cyst and be done with the bloody thing than to cave into the ultra-Conservatives demands.

The Jihad Party Boys miss the dance of the Seven Butt Flossers and want Drag Queen to entertain them while they sell Ecstasy. The customers like the dance and the Jihad Party Boys have cash to throw to Drag Queen and a good chance to sniff her butt flosser after the performance. Some like to pinch the eunuch's soft bottom or one of its teats. Now that the ultra-Conservative Zionist have joined they are unhappy.

Drag Queen knows trash and she will wait to see who wins the battle of words. There could be worse than words though and this she knows and is counting on. For Drag Queen will come out victorious either way. She has the dance and Cyclops the Cyst.

The Great Horned Owl

Daddy has been fidgety as of late. He scurries out to one of his three cars, retrieves something from the debris kept inside and runs back to the palace. I don't see him driving any of them but he has keys to them and wades through the glove compartment boxes or floorboards of all three .

Usually it is papers but the other day, Great Horned Owl, with the camera brain, was on patrol flying high above. Daddy scurried from the worse of the cars parked across the street with a rectangle, blue plastic holding tray, it had some kind of liquid that he wrung out with a rag from the floorboard. He was in haste and, as always, well dressed, as in slacks, belt, nice shirt and shoes. A kind of Old Euro look. He works in the garden dressed that way, how Old Euro can you get?

Certainly not the look of the hood. The hood is trailer trash in transit. We evolved from a trailer court or soon to go to one. Either way, it's beer guts and women slappin' men folk. I don't slap women, but the gut fits and the beer is replaced with champagne. Still trash, anyway you want to look at it, but hey, I call it home.

What did Daddy want with the drippings left, of some type, in the worse of his cars? What was it that he needed to sop it up and bring it to the palace?

Mean Queen has never been seen in or near the worse of Daddy's cars. She drives some expensive white car. It is never dirty and she never parks in the driveway. The only one of Daddy's cars known to park in the driveway is the V.W. A new V.W. In fact, the white expensive Mean Queen car and the V.W. are the best of Daddy's cars. The other piece of shit that sits here and there looks like a fire was set under the hood, the paint is all warped on top of the hood. It looks like a new car in Baghdad, but not for this neighborhood of soon-to-be-trailer trash that live in Encino.

This could be the beginnings of a terrorist plot in the making, fucking-blow-the-shit-out of everyone-car bomb.

Or, Daddy wanted to punish the driver of the car who pissed or spilled in the car by rubbing their nose in the liquid.

I've asked, Great Horned Owl to patrol again tonight. The entire collective of Trailer-ites is at stake. We have some very interesting prospective trailer-trash living nearby. Just a few doors down and across the street is a guy that wears wife beater shirts and always has one car parked on the front lawn with its guts out.

We don't want to loose people like that, this is America.

Mom and the Dead People

She has been in Riverside for the last month taking her forensic classes. It is one thrill after another, the other day they dug up two corpse to take DNA samples. Here is an interesting side, save yourself the cost of any expensive coffin, they rot first.

The bodies were still left though and they got DNA from them. I forgot the reason they had to dig these two stiffs up, which by the way, are no longer stiff. More on the moldering side, I mean the coffins were already decomposed.

She's happy with the dead folk. Her jokes go over their head but she isn't one for joking that much anyway. I do miss her, she is being mom long distance, giving instructions on post cyst removal, making sure I'm taking my meds. But right now it's the dead that have her. At least for the rest of the month.

How Drag Queen Captured, Cyclops the Cyst

The timid nurse that held my cyst, stared terrified at the bloody fat body of the Cyclops. The doctor had all she could do to stop the river of blood that poured out of the slash deep in my flesh.

"Get a hold of the damn thing before it escapes." Doc's stern voice said to the silly nurse trying to keep hold of the cyst wiggling free in her hands.

"It's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," she said before throwing it against the wall.

The cyst squashed and left a bloody print where its body slammed against the tile. Then moved toward the door using its tentacles to carry it.

"Kill it, quick before it infects another fagala." Doc hit the panic button, a siren screamed its warning but too late. Cyclops the Cyst was free to hunt and maim fagalas at will.

Being a cyclops, however, the bloody thing was bloody stupid. It came back to the same alley. It came looking for me.

Always one to keep an eye on trash, Drag Queen is keen for anything new in the alley. She knows trash and before I could get the first pill down for pain and another for bacteria, Drag Queen had spotted the cyst. Before the ice had finished its chill of the first martini, Cyclops began its way down the alley. But Drag Queen, her mind quick as a cat's and twice as fierce, conceived of a plan for her new show. Something to keep the ultra Orthodox Zionist from molesting her without so much a kopeck tossed.

An iron cage to keep her from the pointy fingers of the ultra Orthodox. She would drive them insane while prancing in her new cage, painted peach and gold with plumes of purple ostrich feathers sprouting from the four sides and the pinnacle at the top.

The eunuch was pissed. It would have to rely on slaping the ultra-Orthodox hands that grabbed at its chubby butt-cheeks and soft teats while Drag Queen pranced in her cage waiting to see if one of the ultra-Orthodox, just one fucking cheap bastard, would toss a stick of gum.

But now Cyclops the Cyst had entered into the picture. Such a pretty cage too, to house a bloody beasty cyst. And knowing how fucking stupid Cyclops are, as in getting shit-faced, then jumping around until the stupid bastard pokes his eye out; she knew the colors were perfect for a fagala hunting cyst.

The eunuch played its flute. using me as bait, I had just poured myself another round of mother's helper from the gin bottle when Drag Queen pulled out an absoutley guady circus cage into the alley. She had a butt-flosser on under the tight jeans, I could tell and she motioned the eunuch to play louder for Cyclops are very stupid.

It was mesmerising, I have to hand it to Drag Queen, she knows trash and I sat there listening to the fat eunuch play the flute and Drag Queen showing her new toy. Little did I know of Drag Queen's true plan. Not to taunt the fagala with her new toy but use my smell to draw the cyclops closer to a pretty house. A house that smells of fagala.

I couldn't see the cyst. The gaudy cage was in the way but I raised a toast to Drag Queen and her new enterprise. As soon as I finished the chilled brew, Drag Queen opened the caged door and it was then I could see cleary, Cyclops the Cyst. It grunted when it saw me and threw itself into the cage with Drag Queen slamming the door closed and locked.

It shook me enough that I had to toss the ice from the shaker into my glass and suckle that until I had the fortitude to go back to the gin bottle in the kitchen. Oh, was Drag Queen happy. Did she ever laugh at that and then had the eunuch to jump on top and hold onto the pinnacle as it played its flute. The ultra-Ortrodox Zionist came out from their bunkers to see what was up.

The sight of the caged cyclops was too much for them, they ran to Drag Queen and her caged prey. They wanted to touch and squeeze the cyst. But Drag Queen wouldn't let them near.

"You pay me first, to have the pleasure to squeeze a cyst."

Oh, they shouted Hebrew curses. They screamed in their gibberish spit-throwing way but they paid to squeese the cyst.

Drag Queen knows trash.

Drag Queen Captures Cyclops the Cyst

Today the doctors removed a cyst from my back. It was planted by one of Mean Queen's slaves while I was asleep. The cyst grew and grew in my flesh. It grew so large the doctor said it was the biggest cyst and deepest that she has removed in ten years and when you think she works at Kaiser, that's a hell of a lot of cysts.

I called him Alfie, when shown to me. As if I went into an abortion clinic in Alabama and they had to show me the fetus after ripping it from the womb to see how I would react from taking a life from my body. I waved at Alfie, at all the hurt he caused me and the deformity of a lump under my shirt, thanks to Mean Queen's minions. I said goodbye to Alfie and good riddance to the beast of pain.

Drag Queen found it wandering in the alley. Drag Queen coaxed it into a cage as I sipped at my third martini while visiting the chickens. She knows the excitement Jidahdis get when they see a caged animal. A beast of pain kept safely behind bars. Drag Queen paraded Cyclops the Cyst down the alley from one bunker to the other. Drag Queen raised the Jidadi flag to Mean Queen that the implant worked on the Fagala next door.

I have sutures and staples to close the gap that Cyclops the Cyst made from being ripped from my body. I have the pain to witness it screaming at me in my face when I raised my hand with the thumb down. But before the doctor could smother the beast, it leaped and ran.

It wasn't until the third martini, while I witnessed the death of thousands of flies in the new disposable fly trap next to the chickens did I see it once again. Clutched and paraded in front of me by Drag Queen for the levitation and exaltation of Mean Queen.

I will be avenged.

An Old Friend

The other day the phone rang, it was someone asking me if I was Mike Gleich. They pronounced my last name right, so they weren't from India. It turned out to be a school mate of mine, Bob Overkamp. We talked, caught up with each others lives and had a few laughs.

It was a kind of whirlwind conversation, covering everything and through it all, Bob's voice was something I couldn't register. I don't know why, except that he never cursed, something Bob never did when we were buddies back in high school.

Why Bob and me were friends I have no idea and how we became friends I have no idea. We lost contact with each other when he moved to the Midwest and married. Had twin boys was the last I heard.

One of my memories, one that flows over me and calms me in turbulent times is of our summer days at the beach. Bob's family would pick me up and we would all go to the beach and spend the day. Lazy days of sun, waves and hanging out. We would slap on tanning lotions and talk about, I don't know what, just talk like friends do. Bob was good looker, tall, blue eyes and a great build being on the gymnastic team.

When I told him I was gay, it wasn't defensive, just that I am gay and had a lover that I married back when it was still legal. He was okay with it, unlike another friend from high school and I guess it was because of that experience that I was worried about what his reaction would be.

Near the end of the conversation, Bob said if I was ever up his way, to come by he had a three bedroom house in Rough and Ready. That's the town's name. For the first time in being contacted from someone of my past I didn't go into a deep depression, rather I was exhilarated. I plan on staying in contact with Bob and hope to visit him in Rough and Ready.

A Bawdy Night at the Bunkers

It was a rough crowd that came to see Drag Queen's dance of the Seven Butt-flossers. She looked out at the crowd assembling in the courtyard. Faces full of black beards and blacker eye glasses that pushed and shoved to get closer to the stage. The eunuch was nervous, never had it seen such angry looking Zionists in cheap shoes. So nervous that it looked for a place to hide if things went wrong that night. Hard for eunuchs to hide, with their soft bodies, flabby tits and girly cheeks, they are easy to spot and the eunuch knew Zionist jidhadist could be mean and this crowd looked particularly mean. They yelled epithets, they screamed in their vulgar spit-throwing gibberish, Hebrew curses at Drag Queen and her eunuch.

Drag Queen held fast. She knew how to work a crowd, the tougher the better for Drag Queen and the eunuch would have to fend for itself if things came to the worse that night. Drag Queen was ready with her fresh supply of crochet butt-flossers. She had made some quite dazzling flossers for just such an occasion. She grabbed them once she saw what type of crowd gathered in the courtyard the other night.

With a flutter of her lashes, Drag Queen signaled to the eunuch to begin playing its flute. The music tempered the crowd and hushed their Hebrew curses. Drag Queen, kneeling with her flowing lavender scarf draped around her body, swayed to the flute's soft tones. Once she rose and presented her large ass to the crowd, the eunuch dropped its flute and picked up its drum, chanting to its beat played out by its soft hands.

The crowd approved. Grunts and snarls replaced their cursing. There were hints of smiles being formed in their matted black beards. They still had on their cheap black coats though and this worried Drag Queen. She couldn't see how much coin they possessed, if they had coin at all. Tonight's performance might end with a tilt rather than the eunuch diving to the stage to retrieve fortune.

She ground her great ass cheeks. The orbs bounced and mooned the crowd but these hardcore Zionists were not that easy to please and quickly she displayed the first butt-flosser, having her ass lips twitter with the strings that ran down the length of her great crack.

It wasn't working, the eunuch could see that. Drag Queen could see it too and twirled faster throwing butt-flossers to the crowd. They grabbed them but didn't sniff them. Instead they snapped them at Drag Queen's ass, smacking her with her own butt-flossers. Drag Queen knew this meant trouble. She shook her booty, she shimmied her wares and thumped her buns about the stage but it didn't help.

Before the eunuch could throw its drum, before Drag Queen could slip off stage, the Zionist in black hats and cheap black shoes overwhelmed the hapless performers. The eunuch bleated as its soft teats were mauled. Drag Queen clamped her butt cheeks tight to fend off the fingers of the Zionists.

It did no good. In the end, among Hebrew curses and black beards, the two were ravaged. I saw Drag Queen this morning, she was ragged, her clothes still torn and marked. Her eunuch still hiding on the side of the bunker, its soft tits scratched and swollen. Drag Queen took her trash out, she knows trash.

The Villiage Idiot

He did it again. Moved the trash barrels under the eaves of our garage. I'm not sure why Village Idiot has this obsession with our trash cans but he does. I moved them back and when Village Idiot came home with his wife, who has the stigma of marrying the village idiot, she cursed the dufus for a good ten minutes after he told her he moved the barrels and someone moved them back.

Village Idiot thinks he can do whatever he wants. Never mind that when they pick up the trash and the barrel's lid hits the top of our garage it causes damage and Village Idiot knows this, and has been warned about it. His wife has enough brains though to know how to spell, law suit. Village Idiot does not and gets yelled at by his wife.

I say, beat the bastard senseless, well senseless wouldn't work with a village idiot but apparently for a village idiot some form of bad-hurts, good-candy is in order. I'll offer a list for his wife of things to do to Village Idiot when he wakes after falling asleep, say after he eats porridge and then falls asleep in the bowl. Smack him on the head for sleeping. Smack him on the head for falling asleep in his food. Smack him on the head for being an idiot and finally smack him because he is so fucking irritating. If he sleeps while in bed, throw him on the floor, then throw water on him and then throw his shoes at him. If he wakes from a nap, first kick him, after that kick him again for groaning and finally kick him until he is standing--awake or not.

Bombs

The Jihad Boys dropped bombs on the fourth of July. Big fucking crackers that shook the air and exploded close by the house. We were stoic though and no one moved from their positions around the fire. We lit a joint and then two. Beer and wine to see us through the invasion. It is still going on, explosions rip the hood daily but we will not give in. Millie is unafraid, she isn't bothered by the bombs yet knows to stay close.

Daddy removed the dead tree and now for the others. The Great Horned Owl will soon poop. The Great Horned Owl with its camera brain can locate far better than the Jihad Boys and soon, the Italian cypress will wither with owl poop.

Come and get us Jihad Party Boys. We're waiting.

The Hood is a Popping

Jihad Party Boys are are setting off bottle rockets. Drag Queen is teasing them for bigger things, which I'm sure they are planning for tomorrow. Not to commensurate the birth of America, but to demonstrate their power over the hood. Where will the the Party Boys send their rockets next and terrorize the hood with a whiff of gunpowder.

Ribs are ready for the barbie, chicken for the fryer and baked beans cooking over night. Mom made potato salad. Some Jap version with imitation crab, pasta, mayo, eggs from the girls and potatoes. For some reason it is really good. Sushi will come twice for a hungry, drunken, fourth of July party done the white trash way. I almost rented a trailer for the front yard but settled for our old toilet to be a planter.

Daddy and Mean Queen are at it again. Daddy yelled, Mean Queen screeched and Daddy really yelled. Mean Queen, don't worry, the new tree Daddy planted? It's dead, its little leaves have turned to Jesus and the Junipers are soon to follow. Daddy can yell all he fucking wants in his spit gibberish and it won't do him any good. The Great Horned Owl, its camera lens are focused on Daddy and Great Horned Owl will poop on command.

The Can

If I don't kill Juan the carpenter by the end of tomorrow, it will be a miracle. But I am a cheap fuck and Juan is a cheaper carpenter. We're both fucking cheap. The bathroom has only a few things more to make it complete, that is if a leak doesn't appear or the phone go out because when he put in the copper plumbing he took all the grounds off and didn't attach them back. Okay now, the phone company came out today and did it, no phone for four days but hey, I'm happy to flush the toilet lobster into the sea.

The shower doors will go on tomorrow unless Juan finds out he needs glasses, pronto so he can figure out the pictures following each instruction. I think he is illiterate on top of everything else, but cheap. At least the total in my brain is coming in less than the bids I had for an actual company that has an overseer to make sure the slaves complete the tasks. Juan was one of these slaves. Paid, I don't know what to learn a trade the hard way and now is making a fair wage, $25 an hour for his skills. That's another thing entirely, but let's be honest and state Juan the carpenter should always find someone to work for rather than with.

The Peach color walls are nice and warm with all the dark cherry wood of the vanity and picture frames. It looks good but then, as the saying goes, "Mary, it takes a fairy to make something pretty."