Hello gentle Americans.  I would like to share with you a quick sketch of one of my favorite drag frenimies-Lady Bunny.  I am preparing for an art show in May, which will highlight many drag luminaries and other skanks, whores and degenerates.  Actually, Lady Bunny happens to fall into all those categories.

Hello gentle Americans.  The other day I was sitting with a friend at my neighborhood diner.  She just returned from her hometown after a visit with her mother; while she was there she met with some local renowned psychic who told her what’s in store for her future.  It was filled with love, money, romance and travel.  A few minor hardships were thrown in to give it an air of authenticity and my friend was beaming with hope as she scarfed down a stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

Why is it whenever someone tells me they have seen a psychic, who has projected a wonderful future, I want to grab a fork off the table and stab them in the eye and say, “Hah!  Did you psychic predict that!?!”  And as the blood gushes from their face you can here them whimper, “Oh lord!  The tarot cards said nothing about a fork being jabbed in my eye!  This can’t be happening, the cards said nothing of this!”  Of course I did not do such a barbaric thing, I just sat there and smiled politely and said, “Wow, sounds like a great reading. What’s the psychics name?  If I am ever in that part of the country I would be sure to see her.”

Oh, I would love to see her;  as we sat around her crystal ball, room draped in swaths of purple velvet, with taxidermied animals perched on shelves and hanging from walls, when she finally turned over the last tarot card I would pull a fork out of my purse and stab her in the eye (the one without the patch) and say, “You didn’t predict that would happen, did ya?”

Stay fresh,

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