Dear Drag Queen

You see that horrified look on the person's face across from you? It's your fault. No. It's not because you're still doing the tired lip liner-doesn't-match-the-lip-thing. We know you're just going to eat your lip makeup off anyway now that your show's over.
It's because you reached into the back of your skirt, yanked something then dug into the front of your stockings.
You, messy drag queen, were kind enough to put whatever it was you were acquiring onto the floor beneath you.
Your fatal flaw, the one that caused the look of disgust on one of your late-night dining companions, was but for the fact that you REACHED FOR A NACHO OUT OF THE COMMUNAL CHIP BOWL.

How much tequila did you drink to think that this was OK?

Nasty Bitch. You almost ruined the guacomole and salsa. No one at the table asked for a side of Pico de dicktape.

Love,
WILLAM
p.s. This note is kinda a note-to-self. It's exactly what it is.

Dear Blanca,

You've been helping me keep my house tidy for almost five years. I love you more than unnecessary organs like the pancreas.

But if you hide my Goo-Gone one more time on me, I'm going to learn Panamanian just so I can yell at your in your native tongue.

The Goo-Gone is kept under my bathroom sink for a reason. I spray it on my balls to get rid of any adhesive. While we're on the topic, stop moving the duct tape from my bra drawer to the garage. Just think of my closet as Homo Depot. Baby oil is for pussies. I need a friggin' man's solvent.

& Maybe you shouldn't consider my house a 4 bedroom since my closet is actually a converted bedroom. I mean God forbid you don't get to go on a 20 day cruise of the Mediterranean sea again this year. Just sayin...

I'm Kidding. You're my everything. Thank you for organizing my "chi-chis." That's what she calls my fake boobs (& i have like 10 different sets for different reasons)

Love,
Miss Williao.
(yes- that's how she spells my name on her calender. It's pronounced like the 80's movie with a little tamale thrown on top)

My Hole-a-Day show

It's a rare occasion I do crap so this should be good.



The Boofonts have been on America's Got Talent and have written a funny little show. The venue has kick-ass margaritas too. What better way to celebrate Christmas, Chanukkah or Kwanzaa? None of that Winter Solstice Sandanista Wicca shit though. Keeping it Holy.

Click here for tix

I will tell you a thing or two about a Piece Of Shit or two

My friend Fighting Mad Mary regulary does product reviews and it inspired me to get back in the game.

Introducing BumpIts.
Notice there's no "!" afterwards. That's because I'm less than thrilled with this product.

I tried it. It sucked. It's intended to be inserted under the crown of one's hair to achieve a higher profile in the back. It barely worked in a wig. I'm sure it's great for whores who have to lay down a lot and need to poof-up their 'do before hitting the block again. But my grandmother always said "Don't trust a woman who doesn't know how to backcomb." She kinda mumbled it because she talked with a ciggy but you get it. Teasing is essential

And even if you do get it to work, what if you're playing "I-love-it-when-you-call-me-big-poppa" from behind with your man? He yanks a bit (even though he knows he's not suppose to touch your hair) & then this p.o.s. falls out. He's gonna think you're a robot & pieces are needing to be sent in for warranty. Fucked up to scare your boy like that. No wonder if he thinks you should get implants.

The point is, this is God telling you that if you're not willing to do your hair, he and the rest of the holy family don't think you don't deserve the volume.