My Lederhosen Are A Gay Man's Treasure Trove

So says Rufus Wainwright, and I have no reason to doubt it.

Meanwhile across town, a motley collection of reprobates gathered around the flickering light of the tellybox to dip overripe strawberries into finest as-seen-on-tv chocolate. "Jolly jumping jaffa cakes Si-Man, you'll get salt in the chocolate!" said the one known as Deter-Mann, and instantly all thoughts turned to vile & disgusting things. Images of the final exploits of their heroic chums faded from the screen as the gathered few vowed to use their newly acquired powers of super-aching bellies, mild disappointment & creeping nausia only for evil.

Later... once the strange, shakey hand man had been dispatched from Furlong HQ; Crabb-Man, Mighty-Meesh & your humble narrator journeyed to Rufus's Portsmouth pad in the Micramobile and donned their Angela Merkel drag gear to gain entrance to the hideously smoke-free, but gerbil-friendly Guildhall hall. They overcame the twin obstacles of the rampant toilet kerfuffle & the Miss Piggly t-shirt. They fought through the hordes of booze-confiscating ticket inspectors and took their seats to witness the second gayest thing that their eyes had yet seen. Spangly things, stripes, hats, stilettos & so-bad-it's-fabulous dance routines whirled in front of their honking faces until, sweaty & panting, they ran for home so Mighty-Meesh could continue her nocturnal, life-saving crusade in new, fabulous style.


Currently listening: Adjágas by Adjágas