Wednesday, August 20, 2008
We just got off the mothership and boy is my custom-tailored Stella McCartney ivory pantsuit tired. I defrosted Davey dear just for this, to pay honor to the great Mon. Poiret. I also had my hair sculpted from the tears of adolescent homos and the breath of a dying panda. Davey, dear, hold my hand lest you fall over, I know you haven't seen daylight in a good few months, just hunker down and fix your Bowietie. Ha! Pun. No you can't have the cane, it's my god damn prop and it makes me look even thinner by comparison. Though your bloat is also a great help, dear. Ziggy Stardust, indeed. More like Ziggy Stargut. Ha. There I go again. I just came up with that, all on my own, aren't you impressed with my wit and impossibly high cheekbones. Now smile for the flashing lights, Davey dear, and I might let you touch something else besides my hand for a change. If you're lucky.