For that fresh and foamy feeling!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tales of Joe: Wheelchair Lady
Author's Note: Unlike most of the posts in this blog, the following story is true.
The memories of those days still remain in my heart, as warm as the summer sun and as fresh as the cool breeze. Those were more innocent times, and we had barely begun to see the features of adulthood forming on our awkward, teenaged bodies.
He was always a more confident youth, my friend Joe. He had a distinct walk, like a cross between a petulant waterfowl and an incontinent prostitute, but he walked with pride at all times, strutting even when he had little idea what he was showcasing, and to whom. I remember the many times we would be out walking about the campus together, with every eye on us but completely invisible at the same time.
It was a liberating feeling, to be watched but to never be seen for what one really is. And yet, on occasion, we did get noticed. So specifically I recall the times that the eyes of someone out and about on campus would momentarily catch a glimpse and take interest.
For example, I can recall the time we encountered Elizabeth. Elizabeth, ah, what a woman she was! She was 5 foot nothing, with a mustache and crispy bangs, and a voice that was permanently fixated into a grating, plaintiff whine. She always reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and would wheel herself out in her manual wheelchair across the campus, looking for someone- if not anyone- with whom she could initiate a conversation.
This often proved to be a difficult task for her. She was a ... peculiar woman. In her adolescence, she had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, but she had considerable insight into her behavior, causing her many therapists to throw their hands up in frustration over the futility of her treatment. When I was 10, she had kidnapped my dog and held it hostage as a means of acquiring a neighbor's private medical information. When I was 13, she had conned Joe's younger sister into becoming a bridesmaid in a wedding she had staged merely for the gifts. Being new in town, Joe's mother was not aware that this was Elizabeth's fourth wedding of this nature. Needless to say, she was a woman who, when you met her, you addressed briefly and went on your way.
That was a thought we kept in mind when she stopped us on our walk that day. She pleaded and begged with us to help her obtain a phone card so that she could contact her sorority sisters to invite them to her bridal shower- she had only recently become engaged yet again, this time to a mentally retarded man with a hefty inheritance. Knowing Elizabeth had never been in college, let alone in a sorority, we lied to her, telling her we didn't have the time to help her out, but we would let someone at her facility know she needed some assistance.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth had become very intimate with being brushed off, and she could distinguish genuine preoccupation with a lie to avoid her with no great difficulty. This incensed her. As we walked away, she flung her cigarette at us.
"Alright, fine! Forget you... you swishy nigger!" She spat the last two words with as much force as her small body could muster, her eyes gleaming with excitement at what her verbal taunt might elicit.
Growing up as a gay man in a rural area, I had long ago become accustomed to all sorts of hateful namecalling. At this point, I barely reacted, as it had simply become part of my environment, an ambient noise like the wind or the rain. Joe, however, was not one to ignore any sort of stimulus. As he was quite prone to screaming at the wind or howling the blackest profanity at the rain merely for startling him, a direct attack such as this could be ignored as easily as one could ignore a shotgun blast.
He whirled around, his face curled in a mixture of rage and perverse amusement. I drew a sharp breath as Elizabeth and I watched him- for a split second, he paused, and blinked. Elizabeth chuckled, mistaking his reaction for shock. I grew fearful. He wasn't shocked. He was locking onto his target.
He smiled at her, giving me a chill. "Look, cripple bitch..." he said, calmly but firmly. "I'm going to give you till the count of five to take that back."
Elizabeth grinned smugly, saying nothing.
"Five..." Joe began counting. "Four... three..." He glared at her as he counted, and Elizabeth's smile grew wider and wider. "Two..." he announced, with a bit of hesitation.
Elizabeth giggled. "Make me.... nigger."
Joe went completely silent, and turned to walk away. He took three steps.
"One, bitch!" he shouted, whirling around and charging the woman like a lioness going after a gazelle. He was on her in less than a second, and the sound of a open hand striking flesh resounded with such strength that it caused a small echo. Joe stepped back, still in attack position. Elizabeth looked stunned, and her face was red with the distinct image of a palm across her left cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but only for a moment. She snarled and produced a lighter from her purse.
"Come on, nigger, you want to fight me?" she taunted. Joe said nothing, merely leaning in again quickly and striking her quickly in the face.
"Oh, you could tell?" he replied, sarcastically. Elizabeth wheeled into his shins, causing Joe to swear. I could see the glint of red on her foot pedals where she had hit him.
"I'll have you know, I was trained in judo!" the handicapped woman cried. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. Joe reached in and grabbed her by her bangs with his left hand, steadying her head for a second. He drew back his right hand, made a fist, and clocked her squarely in the face.
"You fucking bitch... YOU..." he shouted, "are in... a fucking WHEELCHAIR!" He punctuated the final word with another punch, and released her. As he did, I noticed he still had a small amount of Elizabeth's hair in his hand. He threw it aside, and started to move behind her.
Elizabeth shrieked and flipped on her lighter. Joe grabbed the handles of her chair, and began to push her. She struggled against him, and eventually managed to reach behind herself and burn him with the open flame of her Zippo.
Joe howled like a wounded animal, and let go of the chair, but not before trying to knock it over on its side. Elizabeth managed to brace herself by wiggling her right leg free and catching it under the front right wheel. She swore to herself as she grabbed the arm rests and repositioned herself in her chair.
Joe backed away, and Elizabeth turned around to face him. They were both panting and red in the face. Joe's shins were bleeding openly, and his left arm was blistered from where she had burnt him. Elizabeth's hair was a mess, and there was a noticable spot in the front where Joe had ripped out part of her bangs. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, but neither one sobbed or cried in the slightest. I merely looked on, paralyzed.
"You better hope that nigger ass of yours isn't too sensitive..." Elizabeth growled.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joe asked, between pants.
"Because if it is, it's gonna hurt like hell when it gets raped in prison!" she cackled. Joe cocked his head, and then cracked his knuckles.
"You have a mustache," he replied, matter of factly. He then charged her again. She put her fist up in front of her, as if to try and hold him back. He hit her with a sideswipe, but while he landed the blow, she managed to reach up and punch him in the gut, and tear away part of his T-shirt.
They struggled for a few seconds, clawing at each other and screaming incoherently before they disengaged. Both of them huffed and puffed, never breaking eye contact. Elizabeth spoke first.
"I happen to be part Russian!" she snapped, and charged at him again. Joe sidestepped her this time, and rolled out of the way. As he did, he grabbed a loose piece of asphalt out of the road and picked it up. He ran up behind her before she could turn around, and bludgeoned her in the back of the head.
"Oh fuck!" Elizabeth screamed. She grabbed the back of her skull in pain, and doubled over in her wheelchair. Joe tossed the rock aside, and spat.
"Fucking lying bitch. Russian women have hairy pits, not a full on Fu-Manchu," he stated, and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair before taking off into a full on run. Elizabeth was still too stunned to fight against him, so he managed to get pretty far with her before she could do anything.
What was he planning? I wondered to myself. He pushed her to the end of the road, and turned to the left, down a path that was on a steep incline.
He stood there for a second, while Elizabeth meekly fought for control of her chair. He didn't react to her, merely chuckling sinisterly.
"Goodnight, bitch," he said sweetly, and gave her a strong push. Her chair raced to the bottom of the hill as the wounded woman tried in vain to apply her brakes. She managed to finally stop herself... but too late. There was a terrible sound and a scream as she ran off the road, across a sidewalk, through a flower bed, and into the side of a building. She sat for a few moments, crying, and trying to get herself pushed through the dirt back onto the sidewalk so she could make her way home. Joe merely stood at the top of the hill, laughing vigorously with a wild look in his eyes.
It was one of those moments of our adolescence I will remember forever.
The memories of those days still remain in my heart, as warm as the summer sun and as fresh as the cool breeze. Those were more innocent times, and we had barely begun to see the features of adulthood forming on our awkward, teenaged bodies.
He was always a more confident youth, my friend Joe. He had a distinct walk, like a cross between a petulant waterfowl and an incontinent prostitute, but he walked with pride at all times, strutting even when he had little idea what he was showcasing, and to whom. I remember the many times we would be out walking about the campus together, with every eye on us but completely invisible at the same time.
It was a liberating feeling, to be watched but to never be seen for what one really is. And yet, on occasion, we did get noticed. So specifically I recall the times that the eyes of someone out and about on campus would momentarily catch a glimpse and take interest.
For example, I can recall the time we encountered Elizabeth. Elizabeth, ah, what a woman she was! She was 5 foot nothing, with a mustache and crispy bangs, and a voice that was permanently fixated into a grating, plaintiff whine. She always reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and would wheel herself out in her manual wheelchair across the campus, looking for someone- if not anyone- with whom she could initiate a conversation.
This often proved to be a difficult task for her. She was a ... peculiar woman. In her adolescence, she had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, but she had considerable insight into her behavior, causing her many therapists to throw their hands up in frustration over the futility of her treatment. When I was 10, she had kidnapped my dog and held it hostage as a means of acquiring a neighbor's private medical information. When I was 13, she had conned Joe's younger sister into becoming a bridesmaid in a wedding she had staged merely for the gifts. Being new in town, Joe's mother was not aware that this was Elizabeth's fourth wedding of this nature. Needless to say, she was a woman who, when you met her, you addressed briefly and went on your way.
That was a thought we kept in mind when she stopped us on our walk that day. She pleaded and begged with us to help her obtain a phone card so that she could contact her sorority sisters to invite them to her bridal shower- she had only recently become engaged yet again, this time to a mentally retarded man with a hefty inheritance. Knowing Elizabeth had never been in college, let alone in a sorority, we lied to her, telling her we didn't have the time to help her out, but we would let someone at her facility know she needed some assistance.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth had become very intimate with being brushed off, and she could distinguish genuine preoccupation with a lie to avoid her with no great difficulty. This incensed her. As we walked away, she flung her cigarette at us.
"Alright, fine! Forget you... you swishy nigger!" She spat the last two words with as much force as her small body could muster, her eyes gleaming with excitement at what her verbal taunt might elicit.
Growing up as a gay man in a rural area, I had long ago become accustomed to all sorts of hateful namecalling. At this point, I barely reacted, as it had simply become part of my environment, an ambient noise like the wind or the rain. Joe, however, was not one to ignore any sort of stimulus. As he was quite prone to screaming at the wind or howling the blackest profanity at the rain merely for startling him, a direct attack such as this could be ignored as easily as one could ignore a shotgun blast.
He whirled around, his face curled in a mixture of rage and perverse amusement. I drew a sharp breath as Elizabeth and I watched him- for a split second, he paused, and blinked. Elizabeth chuckled, mistaking his reaction for shock. I grew fearful. He wasn't shocked. He was locking onto his target.
He smiled at her, giving me a chill. "Look, cripple bitch..." he said, calmly but firmly. "I'm going to give you till the count of five to take that back."
Elizabeth grinned smugly, saying nothing.
"Five..." Joe began counting. "Four... three..." He glared at her as he counted, and Elizabeth's smile grew wider and wider. "Two..." he announced, with a bit of hesitation.
Elizabeth giggled. "Make me.... nigger."
Joe went completely silent, and turned to walk away. He took three steps.
"One, bitch!" he shouted, whirling around and charging the woman like a lioness going after a gazelle. He was on her in less than a second, and the sound of a open hand striking flesh resounded with such strength that it caused a small echo. Joe stepped back, still in attack position. Elizabeth looked stunned, and her face was red with the distinct image of a palm across her left cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but only for a moment. She snarled and produced a lighter from her purse.
"Come on, nigger, you want to fight me?" she taunted. Joe said nothing, merely leaning in again quickly and striking her quickly in the face.
"Oh, you could tell?" he replied, sarcastically. Elizabeth wheeled into his shins, causing Joe to swear. I could see the glint of red on her foot pedals where she had hit him.
"I'll have you know, I was trained in judo!" the handicapped woman cried. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. Joe reached in and grabbed her by her bangs with his left hand, steadying her head for a second. He drew back his right hand, made a fist, and clocked her squarely in the face.
"You fucking bitch... YOU..." he shouted, "are in... a fucking WHEELCHAIR!" He punctuated the final word with another punch, and released her. As he did, I noticed he still had a small amount of Elizabeth's hair in his hand. He threw it aside, and started to move behind her.
Elizabeth shrieked and flipped on her lighter. Joe grabbed the handles of her chair, and began to push her. She struggled against him, and eventually managed to reach behind herself and burn him with the open flame of her Zippo.
Joe howled like a wounded animal, and let go of the chair, but not before trying to knock it over on its side. Elizabeth managed to brace herself by wiggling her right leg free and catching it under the front right wheel. She swore to herself as she grabbed the arm rests and repositioned herself in her chair.
Joe backed away, and Elizabeth turned around to face him. They were both panting and red in the face. Joe's shins were bleeding openly, and his left arm was blistered from where she had burnt him. Elizabeth's hair was a mess, and there was a noticable spot in the front where Joe had ripped out part of her bangs. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, but neither one sobbed or cried in the slightest. I merely looked on, paralyzed.
"You better hope that nigger ass of yours isn't too sensitive..." Elizabeth growled.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joe asked, between pants.
"Because if it is, it's gonna hurt like hell when it gets raped in prison!" she cackled. Joe cocked his head, and then cracked his knuckles.
"You have a mustache," he replied, matter of factly. He then charged her again. She put her fist up in front of her, as if to try and hold him back. He hit her with a sideswipe, but while he landed the blow, she managed to reach up and punch him in the gut, and tear away part of his T-shirt.
They struggled for a few seconds, clawing at each other and screaming incoherently before they disengaged. Both of them huffed and puffed, never breaking eye contact. Elizabeth spoke first.
"I happen to be part Russian!" she snapped, and charged at him again. Joe sidestepped her this time, and rolled out of the way. As he did, he grabbed a loose piece of asphalt out of the road and picked it up. He ran up behind her before she could turn around, and bludgeoned her in the back of the head.
"Oh fuck!" Elizabeth screamed. She grabbed the back of her skull in pain, and doubled over in her wheelchair. Joe tossed the rock aside, and spat.
"Fucking lying bitch. Russian women have hairy pits, not a full on Fu-Manchu," he stated, and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair before taking off into a full on run. Elizabeth was still too stunned to fight against him, so he managed to get pretty far with her before she could do anything.
What was he planning? I wondered to myself. He pushed her to the end of the road, and turned to the left, down a path that was on a steep incline.
He stood there for a second, while Elizabeth meekly fought for control of her chair. He didn't react to her, merely chuckling sinisterly.
"Goodnight, bitch," he said sweetly, and gave her a strong push. Her chair raced to the bottom of the hill as the wounded woman tried in vain to apply her brakes. She managed to finally stop herself... but too late. There was a terrible sound and a scream as she ran off the road, across a sidewalk, through a flower bed, and into the side of a building. She sat for a few moments, crying, and trying to get herself pushed through the dirt back onto the sidewalk so she could make her way home. Joe merely stood at the top of the hill, laughing vigorously with a wild look in his eyes.
It was one of those moments of our adolescence I will remember forever.
Friday, January 30, 2009
February Cover Revealed
Welcome to the official launch of the Whitechapel Revue. Look forward to these stories and more in the coming month.
Administrator's Note: Well, things are finally lubed and ready here at the Revue. I'm going to take a quick moment to introduce you to our contributors.
Aleister C. - Hailing from Missouri with a heart as black as pitch, he's into fascism, fashion, and financial oppression.
Blaine G. Woodturtle - Topeka's premier housewife/serial killer, she loves to entertain and will huff, inject, or swallow anything if it gives her a beautiful feeling.
And then there is me, Eyepatch, your main administrator. I'm into death, sex, and religion, and everyone I've ever dated refers to me as the One Eyed Monster for a variety of reasons.
Administrator's Note: Well, things are finally lubed and ready here at the Revue. I'm going to take a quick moment to introduce you to our contributors.
Aleister C. - Hailing from Missouri with a heart as black as pitch, he's into fascism, fashion, and financial oppression.
Blaine G. Woodturtle - Topeka's premier housewife/serial killer, she loves to entertain and will huff, inject, or swallow anything if it gives her a beautiful feeling.
And then there is me, Eyepatch, your main administrator. I'm into death, sex, and religion, and everyone I've ever dated refers to me as the One Eyed Monster for a variety of reasons.
Vampire novel authors to meet on the field of battle
Much to the horror of horny young girls and tender young faglings everywhere, their apocalypse has come- at least if the recent challenge made by the author of the best-selling Vampire Chronicles series Anne Rice is accepted by Stephanie Meyer, rising star in the scene of vampire fiction.Only hours ago, Rice, 67, made an official announcement on her blog that she would "engage Stephanie Meyer in a battle to the death in the cemeteries of Savannah, Georgia," and that she felt that she had a divine duty to "wield her holy implements and destroy that which she had created."
Years ago, Rice had been the uncontested queen of gothic literature, with her sexually charged and often homoerotic Vampire Chronicles serving as a significant apocryphal scripture within the lives of darklings all over the world. However, after suffering a diabetic coma in 1998, Rice renounced her position and returned to Catholicism, leaving the realm of vampire fiction to be occupied by squatters.
One such squatter, Stephanie Meyer, a 35 year old Mormon housewife and author, managed to quickly establish power over the demesne, and drew in a slew of new followers with her best-selling vampire romance novel, Twilight.
"I never intended to become the new queen of darkness," said Meyer, in a recent interview. "I was mostly just trying to tell a romantic story that had a fantastic theme that ripped off the Bronte sisters at every possible opportunity. It's all just in good fun, right? What can it hurt?"
Apparently, the health of the human soul. Rice claims that she feels obligated to kill Meyer as a part of her continuing repentance.
"I've found Jesus again, and for that I am very glad. But I can never change the fact that it was my hands that created this intense lust for darkness in the hearts of American women. Thus, I must use my gifts and what remains of my eldritch powers to find this new queen and stake her through the heart before her curse can spread any further. I do this, in remembrance of Him," explained Rice, via a podcast.
"I'm not particularly afraid of her," Meyer stated. "I mean, isn't she like, in her 70's? And heavily, heavily insulin dependent? I could take her, no problem. If she gets too frisky, I'll just blind her with purple prose and finish the job while she's reeling," the Twilight author added."The vampiress Meyer may underestimate me," responded Rice via telepathic messages in the dreams of the pure hearted, "but she cannot understand the human heart, as can be witnessed by her awkward and stilted romantic dialogue. And imprinting? What the hell is THAT? I, on the other hand, have been imbued with the blessings of Heaven. My heart is consecrated. I can wield the holy water and the sacred silver weapons. And I wrote a book about Jesus. I am more than prepared to exorcise her ass."
Although Meyer has not officially responded to the challenge, fans of both authors are filled with fear.
"My online tarot reading told me this would happen," stated one worried fan. "It could be the end of the world as we know it!"
"It's just really sad, because I've gotten off to a lot of Anne Rice," replied another fan. "But the Twilight series is just soooo romantic. I wish my boyfriend could sparkle in the sunlight... instead he just smells like clove cigarettes and basement."
"You would never have this issue if they had both just decided to write about wizards," commented fellow author, J.K. Rowling. "But, of course, had they written about wizards, I would probably have to kill the both of them, so I suppose I can understand all this bad blood. It is a pity, though."
As this story develops, we here at the Whitechapel Revue will keep you updated.
Neither Anne Rice, Stephanie Meyer, nor J.K. Rowling were factually quoted in this post. This article is intended as an affectionate parody- well, affectionate on the part of Anne Rice and J.K Rowling. We don't actually have affection for Stephanie Meyer, so I suppose you would say it was just outright parody in her case. But you get the idea- don't sue us.
Proposition 8 Protesters Fearful of Retaliation by Gays, Mutants
On January 29th, 2009, a federal judge in the state of California denied legal requests providing anonymity for over a thousand individuals who donated to the anti-gay marriage website ProtectMarriage.com. The individuals in question had all made non-anonymous donations to the website to promote the cause of preserving traditional marriage, but were shocked to find that making their donations public would come back to bite them when their names and addresses begun appearing on registries such as Eightmaps.com, which documents the legal addresses of known donors to the promotion of Proposition 8.The motion was made in an attempt to protect the donors, and their marriages, from not only the insidious revenge schemes of hateful gays and lesbians, but also from the supernatural antics of the various members of the Marvel Comics X-Men series.
"I was just on my way out of the house to head to church, when suddenly I was blown over by a blast of wind! My husband was clipped by a bolt of lightning! Before we could determine what happened, it was all over, but I distinctly remember seeing a flash of spandex, a blur of white hair, and the laugh of a strong black woman before I could get my bearings," reported Cindy Lou Augustheimer, one of the alleged victims of the backlash.
Two additional reports were filed within the week, wherein a Mormon man reported being accosted by a short, hairy man who reeked of cigars and seemed to be armed with a set of metal claws, and an African-American Methodist minister complained that a white woman had peeled off her skin and transformed into some sort of strange, sub-humanoid monster in the parking lot of his church.
"This is clearly terrorism, and an assault on God's will for our country," stated Pat Boone, political know-nothing and has-been singer. "It's bad enough we have to suffer through all these fags, dykes, and trannies with their sex addictions and their reasonable arguments for equality, but to have to deal with a sub-set of our population that could literally kill us with their thoughts just for disagreeing with their political agenda is just too much. I certainly hope that God, in all his infinite wisdom, does exactly what I think he should do and brings a plague or something. Oh shit, are those hot wings? Do you all mind if I have a few?"
Although no official charges have been filed against any of the X-men, Professor Charles Xavier, mutant rights activist and fictional character, is adamant in asserting the innocence of his pupils.
"What people need to understand is that we advocate peaceful education and activism for all groups, mutants or otherwise. The X-Men would never attack innocent civilians, unless it was one of those story arcs in which I was being controlled by Cassandra Nova and had become evil. Clearly, this is the work of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, or very possibly the work of a very powerful, but maladjusted drag queen."
The Federal Bureau of Investigations has stated they will begin to look into these attacks within the coming week. However, even should enough evidence be accumulated to file charges against known members of either the gay or mutant community, the courts do not intend to repeal their decision anytime soon.
"Look, it's time for people to grow a pair and put their money where their mouth is. If you want to start advocating against any group of people- which is what you do when you give money to a cause that is petitioning for the removal of rights from a minority group- you have to acknowledge that not everyone might like that. And if that means your gay hairdresser ruins your weave, or dykes egg your house, or you get killed by Dark Phoenix, then so be it. That's just how this great nation works," stated a source within the California Supreme Court.
Monday, January 26, 2009
It may not be factual, but you know it's true
While there has always been suspicion of cat-fighting between its stars, recent drama on the set of the CW's runaway hit Gossip Girl has nearly brought the show to a screeching halt.According to insider reports, filming this season was extremely difficult and several production assistants were diagnosed with stress-induced cardiac episodes during that time. The blame for this unrest can be attributed to a single cast member- the face of 21 year old actress Blake Lively.
When questioned by our contact, Blake reported, "You know, my face has always sort of been a diva. I can remember being back in elementary school and how it used to bully the other girls and cause all sorts of problems in my classes and on the playground. I just sort of thought that as I got older, it would mellow out a bit more, but apparently not."
Fellow cast member Chace Crawford reported that he often felt intimidated by Miss Lively's face, and that on more than one occasion he was threatened by it.
"It can be really hard," said Lively's co-star Leighton Meester. "I mean, Blake is such a sweet girl, and we get along great, but her face can be such a bitch. It just seems to have let this industry get to it's head and it just doesn't seem to know its place. I mean, it isn't called The Blake's Face Show... it's called Gossip Girl- and she doesn't play Gossip Girl- I do! Wait, is that right? My character's name is Gossip Girl, isn't it? I'm sorry, I have to be honest, I'm just so rattled by all this on-set drama that I seem to have blocked most of my memories of the show subconsciously! It's all just too traumatic!"
While the show's producers still claim there is no issue, word on the streets is that the recent bad behavior can be traced to a power struggle between Miss Lively's face and the writing staff, who have opted to take the focus off Blake's face this season by implementing even more headbands into Blair's wardrobe. Although no official statements have been made to suggest it, inside sources tell us that a major coup is expected to play out relatively soon.
"It's going a total bloodbath, I can just feel it," Meester stated. "Please don't tell Blake's face I talked to you," she added.
The following report may actually be complete bullshit.
Why hello
Hello, darlings. My name is Blaine G. Woodturtle, of the MacGuffy Heights Woodturtles! I must tell you, when the idea for this blog was pitched to me, I initially was shocked! You see, I am a proper, Christian woman, and in my deepest heart of hearts, I know that to endorse evil is to invite the wrath of God himself. However, and I don't mind sharing this, I've started to question just how much bite God actually has. It seems to me that even when he does lash out (which seems to be so rarely anymore... oh, how wonderful it would be to live in an era like the Bible... only with shoes and Cristal), he usually just kills a bunch of Filipinos with a tsunami. He's a dear, but he doesn't have the best aim, does he?
I mean, if he didn't smite me when I opened that sweatshop, I rather doubt he would smite me for blogging. I mean, I love him as dearly as I must to avoid damnation, but I don't know that God is the most trend-savvy fellow- at least not if this whole gay marriage debacle is any indicator. Now, as I have assured you, I am a devout Presbylutheritarian (Reformed, of course, dear), and I firmly believe that marriage should be between a woman and the man that can afford her. But, from a strictly legal standpoint, it's all just so depressing. I mean, I wouldn't shake a lesbian's hand, but who I am to deny her the right to marry for money?
I would like to share with you an excerpt of a recent interview I had with a young journalist from Malta, on this very subject.
Here's a recent interview I did with Jonathan Harrington, of some Maltese magazine. I always thought Maltese was just an ornamental style, but did you know it was a country- with PEOPLE in it? I didn't. Anyway, we discuss gay marriage, murder, my new pornographic endeavors, and ignore the topic of the right to divorce in Malta. Thanks, me!
JH: So Blaine, it's funny how you're fighting for gay marriage and we're fighting for divorce.
BW: Dear, I'm fighting for whatever let's me come out of the whole ordeal a little richer.
JH: How will gay marriages make you richer?
BW: Oh, many, MANY ways, dear. First of all, a smart bride will register at a store that is so far out of her price range that she can make a mint off the pawn shop earnings after her honeymoon. But that's pretty much just common sense, isn't it? I mean, who asks for a food processor that isn't planning on hocking it for some mad money and maybe a little pot? Secondly, it opens my financial options more than open trading on the NASDAQ. If I could con a wealthy lesbian LEGALLY, I would do it faster than I would break parole in Cabo St. Lucas during spring break, isn't that right? But who wouldn't, I mean, honestly now.
JH: Isn't it more profitable selling brown people's kidneys, though?
BW: it is, but it's harder to get behind a movement like that in a bumper sticker setting. By the way, I'm giving this exclusive interview to you and you alone, darling. Feel free to get starstruck or even play with your nipples in excitement, I don't mind.
JH: Well, thank you, Blaine! And yeah, that's true. Advertising kidney selling is a drag. By the way, I'm already ahead of you. My nipples are purple with delight and pain.
BW: Exquisite! But back to the topic at hand... So yes, I fully support... what was it again? Fags having dogs or nuns in the military, or something, right?
JH: More legal options in conning people, I think.
BW: Ah, of course. I fully believe (and this is a belief founded in the Scriptures) that everyone has a right to try and bed someone in some sort of financial power play, even if they are mentally ill or whatever it is they are that makes the gay-bashing so out of style nowadays.
JH: So, let's be frank- do you plan on killing the people that are lured into your trap, like one of those plants with mouths, or just ditch them in the closest lake?
BW: well, Jonathan, I'll have you know, I am a good Christian woman. I was brought up with the strong heartfelt beliefs of the American heartland. That, and with sexual abuse, but mostly those homespun family values- and one of the scriptures I take most to heart is "Thou shall not murder." That's why it's so fortuitous every person I've ever been with always suffered from such unusual accidents right after the will was revised to include me.
JH: It's not murder if you accidentally push them into an open fire, I guess.
BW: Or switch their insulin with pool water, yes. It's an act of God. Like when a tornado hits a church. Or when financially secure white heterosexuals get AIDs.
JH: Now, Blaine- aren't you afraid these accidents suddenly happening against wealthy gays will spur up the leprechauns and unicorns to come and attack you? We know that the secret confederation of gays hides these alliances well, saving them for cases just like this.
BW: One would think. However, and I'm very secure in this, I don't believe the gays will call in their gambits against a woman with so much fantastic jewelry, or such luscious tits. It's not in their nature. No, I think, worst case scenario, I'll just become an odd sort of role model, like Heidi Fleiss, or Joan Crawford.
JH: That's probably true, they'd just compliment your fashion style instead.
BW: *laughs* God knows if they can find time to emulate a child beating cokefiend and a coke-snorting prostitute in one of their little parades, they can make way for a pinnacle of good grace and bawdy entertainment such as myself. And speaking of which, Jonathan, wherever did you learn to interview? One of those correspondence journalism courses? We've been talking all this time, and you've YET to mention my new all-boy revue!
JH: Um... all boy revue?
BW: Oh yes. I'm very excited. I've recently started working with porn megastar Chichi Larue to put together a show I like to call Blaine Woodturtle's Old World Sausage Party with Blaine Woodturtle, No Children Allowed, Starring Blaine Woodturtle Part 1. It will be an absolute CAVALCADE of Penises. Also, yours truly! ... Did I use that word right? Cavalcade? I'm not even sure. It's so hard making things that come out of your mouth be in English after your third bottle of Cristal.
JH: I think so. Especially if it's a rather long episode.
BW: Oh, it WILL be. You have to see it. It's only playing in select locations- by which I mean my living room TV. And it isn't so much that I am working WITH Chichi Larue in as much as I buy a lot of porn, and I'm making the best looking of my illegal immigrant staff and some local street kids fuck each other silly for a sawbuck. But it will be fantastic!
Well, it gets a little off track from there. But, now that I've laid it out for you so succinctly, I think you would have to be a fool to argue, don't you agree? Of course you do. I'm sorry to disappoint you by appearing so liberal, but I will assure you- during my stint here at the Revue, I intend to keep things grounded and keep these mushroom-eating, piss-swilling, fur-boycotting liberal bullies in line! It's very important for us to set a good example for young, evil Republicans out there. You can be socially and financially conservative and still be as vile as Heather Locklear's ovaries, and I don't intend to let anyone miss that message, no!
I mean, if he didn't smite me when I opened that sweatshop, I rather doubt he would smite me for blogging. I mean, I love him as dearly as I must to avoid damnation, but I don't know that God is the most trend-savvy fellow- at least not if this whole gay marriage debacle is any indicator. Now, as I have assured you, I am a devout Presbylutheritarian (Reformed, of course, dear), and I firmly believe that marriage should be between a woman and the man that can afford her. But, from a strictly legal standpoint, it's all just so depressing. I mean, I wouldn't shake a lesbian's hand, but who I am to deny her the right to marry for money?
I would like to share with you an excerpt of a recent interview I had with a young journalist from Malta, on this very subject.
--
Here's a recent interview I did with Jonathan Harrington, of some Maltese magazine. I always thought Maltese was just an ornamental style, but did you know it was a country- with PEOPLE in it? I didn't. Anyway, we discuss gay marriage, murder, my new pornographic endeavors, and ignore the topic of the right to divorce in Malta. Thanks, me!
JH: So Blaine, it's funny how you're fighting for gay marriage and we're fighting for divorce.
BW: Dear, I'm fighting for whatever let's me come out of the whole ordeal a little richer.
JH: How will gay marriages make you richer?
BW: Oh, many, MANY ways, dear. First of all, a smart bride will register at a store that is so far out of her price range that she can make a mint off the pawn shop earnings after her honeymoon. But that's pretty much just common sense, isn't it? I mean, who asks for a food processor that isn't planning on hocking it for some mad money and maybe a little pot? Secondly, it opens my financial options more than open trading on the NASDAQ. If I could con a wealthy lesbian LEGALLY, I would do it faster than I would break parole in Cabo St. Lucas during spring break, isn't that right? But who wouldn't, I mean, honestly now.
JH: Isn't it more profitable selling brown people's kidneys, though?
BW: it is, but it's harder to get behind a movement like that in a bumper sticker setting. By the way, I'm giving this exclusive interview to you and you alone, darling. Feel free to get starstruck or even play with your nipples in excitement, I don't mind.
JH: Well, thank you, Blaine! And yeah, that's true. Advertising kidney selling is a drag. By the way, I'm already ahead of you. My nipples are purple with delight and pain.
BW: Exquisite! But back to the topic at hand... So yes, I fully support... what was it again? Fags having dogs or nuns in the military, or something, right?
JH: More legal options in conning people, I think.
BW: Ah, of course. I fully believe (and this is a belief founded in the Scriptures) that everyone has a right to try and bed someone in some sort of financial power play, even if they are mentally ill or whatever it is they are that makes the gay-bashing so out of style nowadays.
JH: So, let's be frank- do you plan on killing the people that are lured into your trap, like one of those plants with mouths, or just ditch them in the closest lake?
BW: well, Jonathan, I'll have you know, I am a good Christian woman. I was brought up with the strong heartfelt beliefs of the American heartland. That, and with sexual abuse, but mostly those homespun family values- and one of the scriptures I take most to heart is "Thou shall not murder." That's why it's so fortuitous every person I've ever been with always suffered from such unusual accidents right after the will was revised to include me.
JH: It's not murder if you accidentally push them into an open fire, I guess.
BW: Or switch their insulin with pool water, yes. It's an act of God. Like when a tornado hits a church. Or when financially secure white heterosexuals get AIDs.
JH: Now, Blaine- aren't you afraid these accidents suddenly happening against wealthy gays will spur up the leprechauns and unicorns to come and attack you? We know that the secret confederation of gays hides these alliances well, saving them for cases just like this.
BW: One would think. However, and I'm very secure in this, I don't believe the gays will call in their gambits against a woman with so much fantastic jewelry, or such luscious tits. It's not in their nature. No, I think, worst case scenario, I'll just become an odd sort of role model, like Heidi Fleiss, or Joan Crawford.
JH: That's probably true, they'd just compliment your fashion style instead.
BW: *laughs* God knows if they can find time to emulate a child beating cokefiend and a coke-snorting prostitute in one of their little parades, they can make way for a pinnacle of good grace and bawdy entertainment such as myself. And speaking of which, Jonathan, wherever did you learn to interview? One of those correspondence journalism courses? We've been talking all this time, and you've YET to mention my new all-boy revue!
JH: Um... all boy revue?
BW: Oh yes. I'm very excited. I've recently started working with porn megastar Chichi Larue to put together a show I like to call Blaine Woodturtle's Old World Sausage Party with Blaine Woodturtle, No Children Allowed, Starring Blaine Woodturtle Part 1. It will be an absolute CAVALCADE of Penises. Also, yours truly! ... Did I use that word right? Cavalcade? I'm not even sure. It's so hard making things that come out of your mouth be in English after your third bottle of Cristal.
JH: I think so. Especially if it's a rather long episode.
BW: Oh, it WILL be. You have to see it. It's only playing in select locations- by which I mean my living room TV. And it isn't so much that I am working WITH Chichi Larue in as much as I buy a lot of porn, and I'm making the best looking of my illegal immigrant staff and some local street kids fuck each other silly for a sawbuck. But it will be fantastic!
--
Well, it gets a little off track from there. But, now that I've laid it out for you so succinctly, I think you would have to be a fool to argue, don't you agree? Of course you do. I'm sorry to disappoint you by appearing so liberal, but I will assure you- during my stint here at the Revue, I intend to keep things grounded and keep these mushroom-eating, piss-swilling, fur-boycotting liberal bullies in line! It's very important for us to set a good example for young, evil Republicans out there. You can be socially and financially conservative and still be as vile as Heather Locklear's ovaries, and I don't intend to let anyone miss that message, no!
Prepare Thyself
Welcome to the Whitechapel Revue. Let's face it. The internet has become an absolute quagmire. It is peopled with self-absorbed individuals who have taken all humanity's strides in technology and utilized them to the fullest solely for the sake of self promotion, consequence free indulgence, and greed. The landscape of this world is dotted with people so terrible they cause one to avert the eye, lifestyle choices so surreal and shocking that it leaves the naive and traditional quaking with fear, and in the every shadowy corner you will find representatives of the most titillating and horrific sexual fetishes.
It can't be stopped. The human mind has expanded faster than America's waistline, and each attempt to control it results in an even stronger wave of reactions against it. That's right, bitches. Taking a cue from MRSA, evil has gone drug resistant!
So why fight it? Why not just sit back, put in your ball gag, and enjoy the ride? Here, at Whitechapel Revue, we aren't going to try and redeem anything- we're just doing what we all do and desire to do, but we're honest about it! So, lace up your corsets, load up your firearms, and get that goat's blood in a Thermos for the trip- the Whitechapel Revue is about to start!
It can't be stopped. The human mind has expanded faster than America's waistline, and each attempt to control it results in an even stronger wave of reactions against it. That's right, bitches. Taking a cue from MRSA, evil has gone drug resistant!
So why fight it? Why not just sit back, put in your ball gag, and enjoy the ride? Here, at Whitechapel Revue, we aren't going to try and redeem anything- we're just doing what we all do and desire to do, but we're honest about it! So, lace up your corsets, load up your firearms, and get that goat's blood in a Thermos for the trip- the Whitechapel Revue is about to start!
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