Divas Live Akimbo

Brilliant.

Sometimes, You Just Need to Get Away

After a protracted illness (read: rehab) AnA is back and ready to tickle just about whatever we can reach and of course what you'll allow us (read: we're not above rape).

And what better way to say "Hey Gay", then with the four biggest trannies we've ever had the distinct, be-turbaned pleasure of meeting: Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte. That's right, kids. They're back. Whether you wanted it or not.

After seeing this, though, we're kind of glad they trekked through the desert (read: there's no plot) back to us. It's like seeing some old friends you never even knew you missed.

It's good to be back. Now, let's all get ready for Liza in a bodysuit and what will surely be the gayest moment in film history.

What Good Is Sitting All Alone in Your Room?

Come, see Sasha play Liza!

Little girl lost


Dear Bruce Weber, thank you for invading my dreams. xoxo, Ms. Ross


Hello, world! Liza's back!


"Reality, much like a half-naked male model in gold lamé booty shorts, is something you rise above." -- Liza


"I got my talent, in addition to my drug/alcohol dependency from my mother, but my dreams, in addition to my love of gay men, from my father." -- Liza

54 - '09...who's got the silver spoon, mama's starting to feel things again?!

Cup it

A diva in her natural element, near comatose and chain-smoking on a technicolor dreamrug, while slugging some bourbon...they don't make 'em like this anymore

"My family's been in show business since the 1700s. I traced them. I'm bred to this. Like a racehorse. A thoroughbred. Look at my parents, my God. But it was my curiosity that made me do this. Because you could also say, 'Look at Frank Sinatra Jr.' It's not like a natural thing that happens. You gotta work." -- Liza

Work, tranny, work!

Oh hi...EVERYBODY!

I’d like to start off with saying, I have no idea where I am or what Paper Magazine is, but my good friend Queen Latifah said there’d be an open bar and free shrimp, to which I said, just try and stop me, buster! That, for no reason but lack of a proper segue, reminds me of a story Papa used to tell me when Mama would cry into her old wigs and shake her tiny, frail fist at Louis B. Mayer, about a princess with great, big doe eyes, a sassy boy cut that looked oddly like a spider devouring her head, who had all the talent in the world. However, her evil mother, a queen, naturally, was desperately afraid of being eclipsed by her younger, prettier, more talented daughter and tried to poison her with some magic beans that looked a lot like candy! I never knew where Papa got these stories from! But I just happened to tell this story to two friends of mine. And it turns out these friends of mine happened to be songwriters. And you know what happened, don’t you? RIGHT! A lawsuit. But after that lawsuit was settled, they threw together this darling little tune about it. JACK!...Where’s my piano player, Jack?...I don’t care what your name is, just play the damn opening notes, you’re making me look bad. Idiot. Jack!