theembitteredqueen

[theembitteredqueen]

#GiveCaptainAmericaAButtPlug

Twitter continues to live up to its reputation as the internet’s premier source of nonsensical claptrap.  Case in point, this week’s hot trending hashtag #GiveCaptainAmericaABoyfriend. An outgrowth of the equally droll #GiveElsaAGirlfriend hashtag, twitter eggs across the nation have banded together to demand that Captain America and longtime platonic soulmate Bucky Barnes be given the Bert and Ernie treatment.  Though this seemed to be just another passing fancy in the Twittersphere, the hashtag campaign has grown so large that it even warranted a response from GLAAD.  I have to say, queering things used to be great fun, but this is just tedious.

Let me be blunt. Making Captain America a butt pirate will do nothing for gay rights, nor will it make for compelling entertainment. This isn’t even aesthetic. Captain America is perhaps the most staid, stoic, buttoned-down piece of white bread in the entire comic kingdom. Absolutely nothing about his character suggests at any sort of gay subtext.  Furthermore, suggesting that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are homos simply because they are two men with an intimately close relationship is horribly regressive.  That is the kind of essentialist, reactionary thinking that gay people have fought against for years.  Are gays truly this thirsty for media representation?  I can thankfully say no.

See, if you ask actual gay people, most will tell you that this is a stupid idea.  Gay people don’t want to see a gay Captain America.  They don’t want to see Captain America at all, even if he did just discover poppers and warming lube.  Gay people have taste and they like art, good art, and they know shit when they see it.  

For one thing, this has already been done, albeit in a subtle way, in the second X-Men movie. Alan Cumming and Ian McKellen brought a queer sensibility to their characters in X2 and it made for a great film. It was never stated that these characters were gay, nor should it have been.  This is the sort of subtle overture that gay people instinctively pick up upon.  Ian McKellen’s Magneto had a world-weary, embittered edge reminiscent of radical queerness.  It was a subtle nod to a knowing audience that made for compelling entertainment.  Besides, Marvel already has a slew of gay characters. It would be far more interesting to write one of them into future movies than to clumsily reboot established straights characters as homos.

A recurring argument in the #GiveCaptainAmericaABoyfriend nonsense stream is that gay youth need role models and heroes to look up to.  I agree that gay kids need role models and heroes, but they should not be instructed to look for their reflection in bland, mass market blockbuster entertainment. Teaching gay kids to find validation in their reflection in straight society is idiotic.  The fabulously queer characters of John Waters or Armistead Maupin would serve as far better role models for young gay kids than the pale imitations of gayness shoehorned into popular entertainment by straight people.  There was a gay superhero in Queer As Folk called Rage. He rescued twinks in distress. Take that, add some frontal nudity, and you’ve got a hell of a film.

If Marvel really wants to show their commitment to their gay fans, they’ll green light an officially licensed porn adaptation for Captain America.  That’s something that gay people would actually want to see. Red Skull could be played by Colby Keller.  He would wage epic sword battles with Captain America and teach him the joys of submission. Of course, Captain America would have to be played by Scott Evans.  It’s the role he was born to play!  I really think that Marvel should consider this.  This has the potential to be truly epic.  It could be the next Deep Throat!

#captain america #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend #scott evans #colby keller

[theembitteredqueen]

The Fakeness

A red carpet gala, properly executed, is a high drama sweepstakes of art and fashion.  Sadly, ever since the late, great Joan Rivers departed this world, red carpet events have returned to their former grim tedium.  If you are anything like me, you yearn for those four magical words, “Who are you wearing?” to be rasped at a terrified dilettante in borrowed Galliano.  Fat chance.  You can’t even say that half the time for fear of offending the fair maidens attending these dreary premiers.  What a world.

For a brief glamorous moment, the queens at the season finale of Rupaul’s Drag Race resuscitated this dying art through the glorious bitchcraft of drag.  In honor of Joan River’s sterling example, I will call these looks in my typical cruel manner, all the while grading on a ten point scale.  Enjoy.

Kennedy Davenport

We’ve all tried to salvage a Dollar Beauty mishap, but such a monstrosity has no place on the red carpet.  The abdominal cut away strains good taste and basic decency all while giving new meaning to the term “raggedy.”  I appreciate the vintage Divine hairline but the gesture’s wasted on a mangled glitter tracksuit.  2/10

Honey Mahogany

A Dorothy Zbornak inspired mastodon motif shows both ambition and taste, but the execution fails dismally.  The hair recalls a failed perm while the seemingly endless layers are just mystifying.  What was she trying to hide?  Unless a hobbit comes out of that robe, I’m calling this a fail. 3/10

Madame LaQueer

What the point of wearing soggy selections from Hot Topic at an event attended by Laila McQueen?  That’s just redundant.  3/10

Laila McQueen

Dear God, those shoes.  Will someone please get her a Payless gift card? 4/10

Detox Icunt

I’m getting 90′s TV starlet channeling 40′s movie star.  It’s all a bit too 90210 for me.  Pass. 5/10

Stacey Layne Matthews

How do you salvage a failed dress?  Slap a couple of swollen nuts on the shoulder.  Typical brilliance from the true winner of Season 3.  7/10

Tatianna

Mob wife realness!  I will gladly swim with her fishes. 8/10

Alaska Thunderfuck

The delicate, fawn-like beauty of this ensemble is particularly impressive given that its model consistently looks like a horse.  The exquisite cinching channels shades of Twiggy while the hanky (code) motif recalls all those blissful nights of years gone by. 9/10

Derrick Barry

Redemption at last!  The high arched brows take this look past a mere Britney illusion into a far more glamorous porn-star-parody Britney illusion.  A square jaw set against arched brows is the surest path to glamour. 9/10

India Ferrah

This is what Jocelyn Wildenstein will be buried in. 9/10

Dax ExclamationPoint

In a spectacular act of contrition, this heavenly look atones for the lip sync disaster that banished her to drag hell.  Astonishing.  9.9/10

Katya Zamolodchikova

This is mystifying, terrifying and alluring.  I’m getting Kenosha County fortune teller who transitioned late in life.  In other words, PERFECTION!  Brava, well done! 10/10

#RuPaul's Drag Race #rpdr8 #red carpet #the realness #kennedy davenport #honey mahogany #madame laqueer #laila mcqueen #Detox #detox icunt #stacey lane mathews #alaska thunderfuck #alaska thunderfvck 5000 #tatianna #derrick barry #india ferrah #dax exclamationpoint #katya zamolodchikova #Joan Rivers #transvestites

[theembitteredqueen]

Gold Diggers Holla!

Fellow faggot gold diggers, our time has come; gay marriage is legally valid in all the land.  At first I couldn’t believe it.  It wasn’t until Nick Jonas congratulated us for it that I knew that it was really true.

I subscribe to the Blanche Devereaux school of equality, so I couldn’t care less about the social benefits of this newly minted civil right.  However collecting some form of alimony, along with 50 percent of a sugar daddy’s other remaining financial assets, is basically my retirement plan, so it was with much relief that I learned about the Supreme Court’s decision.  I’m not terribly supportive, faithful, or giving, however I can polish a knob with masterful precision.  If you’re an elderly rich gay man with a heart condition, be advised that I’m accepting applications for a future husband.

There are many, many other unresolved issues facing the LGBT community that are far more pressing than gay weddings, but I will continue celebrating if only to watch the far right completely eat it.   I have watched with near-orgasmic glee as the Michelle Bachmanns and Antonin Scalias of the world have spectacularly lost their shit over this decision.  What’s more, Supreme Asshat Overlord Scott Walker has also come gloriously undone over the gay marriage win.  With delusional zeal, Walker has voiced support of a constitutional amendment to allow state governments to outlaw homo nuptials.  Silly little man.  The general public is far too busy congratulating themselves on their progressive tolerance of gay weddings to ever back such an idea.  It is my hope that this gesture will make Scott Walker’s harebrained idiocy unpalatable to the voting public, so we will never have to worry about Darth Walker as Commander-in-chief.  What a glorious fringe benefit to my future alimony checks.

Are gays really cut out for marriage and are we bringing about the death knell for society as we know it?  I hope so. As someone who has expressed an appreciation for gay divorce, this will be nothing but good for me.  If anything, I hope that gay divorce will come in wave after fabulous wave.  Gays do nearly everything better than straights, so why not divorce, too?  I realize that there are gay marriage naysayers who have said that gay weddings will lead to polygamy, legally sanctified bestiality and the general destruction of civilized society.  If so, I’m still all for it.  Any culture that would uphold a piece of shit like Eat, Pray, Love as fine art is clearly not a culture worth saving, so I’m all for the looming apocalypse.  When the day comes that the gay wedding apocalypse brings everything crashing down, I will have a warm little spot in my heart that knows that I’ve made a difference.

#marriage equality #gay marriage #gay divorce #gay alimony

[theembitteredqueen]

Save Us, Nick Jonas!

Pride, to me, is about living your truth.  That and toilet sex.  For some time that seemed to be the majority opinion amongst festival goers at American pride festivals (the male ones, at least) but with each passing year this sentiment is held in lower and lower regard.  With the majority of pride festival goers now consisting of heterosexuals, I suppose it’s only natural that pride festival headliners become heterosexuals, too.  After all, I can understand the festival goers’ desire to see their own reflection.  But what happens when your celebrated hetero headliner pulls out suddenly and unceremoniously?

  This is the conundrum that the organizers of Pittsburgh Pride recently found themselves in when Iggy Azalea pulled out of her headlining slot at the last minute.  Though it was surely a coup for the festival organizers to book such a high name act, enthusiasm for Azalea’s booking waned considerably upon the discovery of several allegedly homophobic tweets of hers from years back.  Controversy ensued and Azalea promptly cancelled the gig.  This placed the festival organizers in quite a conundrum.  Though pride festivals are ostensibly designed to gather local queer communities in solidarity and celebration of their respective histories and political triumphs, such ideals tend to be coolly received by the increasingly heterosexual audiences of most pride festivals.  A star was needed and fast, but who would step in and save the day?

Enter, Nick Jonas, gay America’s heterosexual savior.   Nick Jonas has enjoyed an enthusiastic gay fan base ever since a series of buff shirtless selfies went viral last year.  This was followed by a scantily clad crotch-grabbing session for Flaunt magazine last October and his ally status was forever cemented.  Nick Jonas has been running at the mouth ever since about his passionate devotion to the cause of marriage equality and his deep admiration of his gay fan base.  Homos across America have been lapping it up by the spoonful.  Considering this, it’s only natural that he would be vaunted for filling in for Iggy at Pittsburgh Pride.  Nick Jonas has enjoyed a curiously exalted status as gay America’s foremost straight ally.  (All this fuss just for a little hairy crack?  But I digress.)  It’s mystifying how pandering to the paying public constitutes activism or why anyone should care.  Coming out in favor of marriage equality these days is hardly courageous and his aggressive marketing to the gay community is a familiar page out of the Lady Gaga playbook.  Then again, you can’t fuck with those abs, so I guess that’s what’s really important.

What is especially interesting about Jonas’ positive press for stepping in at Pittsburgh Pride is that he is replacing Iggy Azalea.  Iggy has been lambasted from the left for her alleged racial appropriation, so it is quite amusing that she would be replaced (largely uncritically) by Nick Jonas, someone who has arguably done something rather similar amongst gay men.  Though I understand Jonas’ visual appeal, I must say that it is a sad state of affairs that gay men, once the world’s foremost curators of high taste, are excited by the prospect of listening to Nick Jonas’ shitty music.  My sympathies go out to the gays of discriminating taste attending Pittsburgh Pride.  I suggest running a train in a nearby restroom to wait out his set.

  Jonas provided fascinating commentary on his recent booking.  He recently remarked, ““When I heard about the difficult position Pittsburgh Pride was in just days before their event, I knew I had to find a way to help.”  Bless you, Nick Jonas.  What would Pittsburgh gays have done without Nick Jonas to entertain them?  When I think of critical issues facing the LGBT commentary, perhaps the most pressing is the need for famous heterosexuals to perform for them at their pride festivals.  Thank you, Nick Jonas, for filling this void.

I have been accused of being old fashioned, but it seems to me that LGBT pride needs to be about LGBT people or else it’s pointless.  The Iggy/Nick Jonas booking was typical of present day pride festivals, but people can catch them at any of their many tours, or just turn on TV.  Wouldn’t it be more exciting to see Jackie Beat, or Kevin Aviance, or Ian Harvie, or Tig Notaro at your local pride?  I always assumed that seeing outrageous queer performers was the appeal of pride festivals.  Frankly, aside from indulging in an impulsive bi experience in a festival ground Port-a-John, I can’t see the appeal for the many straight attendees of contemporary pride festivals.  Luckily they’re mostly drunk and hemorrhaging money, so pride will grind on for years to come.

We have forgotten that for many years pride festivals grew and prospered with predominantly LGBT performers.  It is a testament to the enterprising spirit of America’s gays that all we need for a successful pride festival is a fair ground, some queens and some meth.  But shouldn’t we also insist on more relevant headliners?  Look, I’m not made of wood.  When the day comes that Nick Jonas finds himself with his legs in the air on a Corbin Fisher set, I will become a fan.  In the meantime I’ll be on the look-out for fabulously talented gay performers at gay festivals or else I’ll just go to Steamworks instead.

#nick jonas #iggy azalea #pittsburgh pride #gay pride #pride month #steamworks

[theembitteredqueen]

7 Times a Charm

After 14 glamorous weeks, the seventh season of Drag Race has come to a close.  Though this was perhaps not the most astonishing season, it was not without its highlights.  Granted there were elimination shenanigans, a bizarre new Untucked format, several baffling “acting” challenges and more than a few runway disasters, but it is to the show’s credit that their core audience is still clamoring for more.  In the words of the immortal sage Laganja Estranja, “C’mon Season 8!”  

This year’s top three was especially eclectic.  Glamorous hobgoblin Ginger Minj rose from the depths of the Florida swamps to stake her claim in the Drag Queefdom.  Meanwhile sassy somnambulist Pearl crab walked down the runway and into our hearts but in the end it was the beautiful, if somewhat empty, Violet Chachki who ran away with the crown.  Ginger fought valiantly for the title and for a while it seemed like she was most equipped to carry the crown.  It’s a pity that she caved into pageant drama backbiting towards the end, as it wound up turning the audience against her.  Having decidedly lost in online opinion polls, and with Pearl’s complete and total dearth of personality (or as others call it, charisma) rendering her incapable of carrying the title, the final prize ultimately had to go to Violet Chachki.  I realize that Violet isn’t the most exciting winner but I think she might be good for the audience.  Throughout the entire competition Violet’s saving grace was her unwavering confidence. Here is someone completely in control of herself, her emotions, her fate, and her destiny.  She didn’t ride to the crown off of a tragic backstory nor did she ever dwell on trauma.  It was refreshing to see someone eschew the tried and true Reality TV staples of victimhood and sympathy in favor of their own natural power.  The gay community far too often dwells on suffering and trauma. Violet had no time for that; she was too busy kicking ass.  This is the sort of attitude that is the future of the gay community, even if her art isn’t.  Besides, it was time for a porn star to finally win RuPaul’s Drag Race.

There’s been a lot of hemming and hawing in the blogosphere about this being the weakest season, but I think that there were still plenty of artistic high notes.  Katya was a particular delight and her Zdravstvuyte Kitty doll is destined to generate millions for Sanrio.  John Waters finally made an appearance on Drag Race (that blazer alone made it all worthwhile) with the Dreamlander musical challenge inspiring 14-year-olds everywhere to google Pink Flamingos.  Despite all the shit talking about season 7 not being funny, this year’s Snatch Game was first time anal tight.  I needed an entire tube of KY just to get through it.  And above all, let us never forget that it was season 7 that gave us the gift of Trixie Mattel.  Bless you, RuPaul.

Last year I was perhaps a bit harsh in my contestant rundown.  Rather than dwelling in negativity (I would be loath to be in anyway pessimistic or cynical on The Embittered Queen) I’m going to take a different tack this year.  Following the example set in the DESPY Awards challenge, instead of reading the queens I shall instead award them for their outstanding contributions to the art of cross dressing.  I present to you The Dildy Awards: Honoring Excellence in the Field of Transvestism.

And the award goes to…

Tempest DuJour: Most Outstanding DILF

Sasha Belle: Best Kim Zolciak Illusion

Jasmine Masters: Most Impractical Earrings

Mrs. Kasha Davis: Most Inventive Use of a Depends Undergarment

Kandy Ho: Filler Queen Par Excellence

Max: Most Inventive Color Scheme

Jaidynn Diore Fierce: Best Pec-Titties (This award brought to you by Burger King, in collaboration with White Castle and Long John Silvers.)

Miss Fame: Best Nude Spread

Trixie Mattel: Tastiest Nuggets in All the Land (Seriously, who knew Ronald McDonald looked so good as a blonde?)

Katya: Best Cultural Hijacking

Kennedy: Best Pube Beard

Pearl: Most Likely to Star in a Breeding Porn

Ginger: Most Prodigious Use of Black Spray Paint

Violet: Best Erotic Massage

Congratulations, Ladies!

���

#drag #drag queens #rupaul #RuPaul's Drag Race #drag race #rpdr7 #tempest dujour #sasha belle #jasmine masters #kasha davis #kandy ho #max malaphany #jaidynn diore fierce #miss fame #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #kennedy davenport #pearl liaison #ginger minj #violet chachki

[theembitteredqueen]

Jackie Beat: America’s Perennial Drag Superstar

I have spoken at great length about my love of RuPaul’s Drag Race, but as gay America prepares to crown its next drag superstar, I thought it would be sporting to take a moment to honor America’s perennial drag superstar.  No, I’m not talking about RuPaul, treasure that she is.  I am referring to the foremost aesthetic auteur in the drag community that has left an indelible mark on the hearts, minds and mugs of nearly every drag queen that has walked the glittering runway of RuPaul’s Drag Race.  I refer to none other than the world’s biggest bitch, Miss Jackie Beat. 

For 25 years strong Jackie Beat has reigned as the most hilarious, most outrageous and arguably most influential drag queen on Earth.  She is well known for twisted humor, having set the standard for nearly every comedy queen that has come after her, but I would argue that Jackie Beat deserves far more credit than she receives.  Aside from being one of the greatest drag comedians ever, I believe that Jackie Beat has done just as much to cultivate the cultural palettes of gay America as RuPaul has.  Like RuPaul, Jackie Beat is a direct aesthetic descendent of Divine and, also like RuPaul, Jackie Beat formulated her character within the now nearly extinct gay underground.  But while RuPaul has risen out of the underground, Jackie Beat has retained a connection to it.  Though she will never be as sheerly iconic as RuPaul is, she is still just as influential, and her ability to remain just under the cultural radar has allowed her to reach artistic heights that RuPaul couldn’t. 

There are those who will disagree with me, but to them I must point out that nearly everything that has been done on Drag Race was either pioneered or perfected by Jackie Beat.  Before Sharon Needles was hailing Satan, Jackie Beat was channeling her.  Before Willam Belli was haughtily waiving her SAG card, Jackie Beat was acting on Sex and the City and sharing the stage with Roseanne Barr.  Before Mimi Imfurst was belting out song parodies, Jackie had mastered the art.  Before there was an entire half-drag challenge on Drag Race, Jackie had perfected the look.  Hell, even Bianca Del Rio owes Jackie a debt of gratitude, as Jackie Beat was cultivating and refining insult drag while Bianca was just a little Cajun faggette.  This isn’t to take anything away from the contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race.  The new queens from Drag Race are extending and extrapolating on the example set for them by elder queens like Jackie Beat.   I aim to take nothing away from them, as they are all deserving of their accolades, however it’s difficult to discuss their art without in some way mentioning Jackie Beat.  That’s the thing.   Jackie Beat is simply that influential and far too few people realize it.

Those that know Jackie Beat know her for her incredible song parodies.  No other performer of any comedic genre has demonstrated the absolute mastery of musical parody that Jackie Beat has.  She has simply conquered the genre and no one will ever match her.  For the benefit of the uninitiated, start with Baby Got Front, move on to Filthy Whore and Beaver, then proceed to her impeccable Christmas material.  Jackie Beat tours nationally with her Christmas show every year and her performances regularly sell out.   Her sick and twisted version of Santa Baby is a timeless tasteless epic that has come to be played regularly as a Christmas time classic amongst irreverent queers.  What’s even more astonishing is that Beat can reliably entertain with even the most absurd scenarios.  Take her Katy Perry parody I Kissed a Squirrel.  Beat’s ability to draw magic out of such a paper thin premise is unmatched.  Her creativity shows seemingly limitless depths and it’s truly astonishing.  From her artistic foremother Divine, Jackie Beat inherited a deep appreciation for that which is generally considered to be crude and tasteless.  Case in point, her epic 18-minute 80’s melody that takes the already classless song parody genre to stunning new lows.  If I had to pick a favorite Jackie Beat song parody, I’d have to go with her deeply inspired take on Mary J. Blige’s No More Drama.  Everything about this is art.  Beat is quick to note that comedy is above all hard work, and this performance shows that perfectly.  She’s one hundred percent committed from beginning to end, collapsing to the ground in the finale.  A lot of queens do parodies, but Jackie Beat is no mere Sherry Vine or Hedda Lettuce.  Beat’s the real deal.  Why else would throngs of regional drag queens regularly lip sync to her material?  There are many small time queens who exclusively perform to her parodies.  Some even lip sync her stand-up and onstage banter.  Many queens have admirers, a few have imitators, but no other queen can boast the same impressive roster of Regional Krustys that Beat can.  The bitch should start a clown college.

  What makes Beat’s humor particularly satisfying is that she uses her platform to actually say something.  Beat doesn’t just entertain her audiences, she provokes them and never hesitates to challenge her predominantly gay audience.  On the topic of gay assimilation, Beat famously opined, “Mainstream acceptance is the worst thing to ever happen to the gay community.  Congratulations, faggot.  Now you’re boring!”  Gays these days are, like the rest of drab society, chained to their smart phones and are conditioning to think of drag as background bar entertainment.  Jackie Beat does not suffer texters gladly.  Do not let her catch you texting during her show.  Regarding this she has memorably quipped, “I hate it when people text during the show.  I was performing the other night and I was like, ‘Please stop texting while I’m performing!’ and the girl in the audience was like, ‘For your information, I’m texting my friend about how fabulous you are.’ I was like, ‘Great, that’s like telling a kid I’m only molesting you because you’re adorable.’ ”

  More than any other drag queen working today, Jackie Beat represents the power of voice.  That can be taken literally, as Beat is a phenomenal vocalist.  (Take her parody of Diamonds Are Forever where Beat matches every formidable note of the Shirley Bassey original as proof of this.)  But Beat goes beyond that.  Jackie Beat has been very open about her distaste for the ubiquitous lip synching that dominates present day drag and she has set an example to inspire her contemporaries to rock the mic as well as the catwalk.  Furthermore Beat has used her platform to convey a message with her trademark filth.  Throughout her career Jackie Beat has challenged complacency within the gay community.  Most drag queens live in slavish devotion to divas like Madonna and Lady Gaga, but Beat has encouraged the gay community to support themselves and not pander for external accolades.  She has spoken out against the legacy of gay bullying long before it became the sloppy saccharine cliché that it is today and she has encouraged drag queens to conduct themselves as legitimate entertainers and not just fashion models pantomiming pop hits.  Drag Race has injected a bit of this rebellious spirit into the mainstream via queens like Mimi Imfurst and Sharon Needles, but the genesis of this spirit came straight from the overdrawn lips of Miss Jackie Beat.

Creating original music has become the latest craze within the drag community.  This trend is largely attributable to RuPaul’s extraordinary legacy as a purveyor of incredible dance jams, but Jackie Beat’s original music is equally inspired.  Too few people know about Beat’s electroclash band Dirty Sanchez.  Performing alongside nightclub impresario Mario Diaz with beats by DJ Barbeau, Dirty Sanchez is an electrosexual homage to the type of glorious hedonism that pervaded the gay community before its tidy marriage equality reinvention.  Tracks like Dig It, Give Head & Be Beautiful and Fucking on the Dance Floor are timeless electroclash jams that will live on in the playlists of discerning DJ’s for years to come.  There have been a few quality cuts from the new breed of drag queens, but enterprising queens would be better off turning to Dirty Sanchez (see also: Toilet Boys, Pansy Division and Jobriath) for inspiration rather than providing yet another reiteration of Supermodel.

If there is ever a Metropolitan Museum of Faggotry, it should prominently feature the work of Jackie Beat.   While keen viewers will be able to decipher hints of RuPaul’s punk roots in her current work, Jackie Beat is perhaps the most punk queen of all time.  Herein lies her enduring relevancy.  If I was curating an exhibit of Jackie Beat’s work for a museum, I would name the exhibit The Resistance.  How did we get from Divine’s punk rabblerousing in the 70’s to the mainstream penetration by drag today?  Drag can still be plenty rebellious, but there seems to be a missing link from drag’s punk conception to the firm niche it presently enjoys in the mainstream today.  Jackie Beat’s work is the essential missing aesthetic link between Divine’s seminal early art and current mainstream gay acceptance.  Beat’s work is the filthy, dirty, rock and roll spirit of the gay underground in all its glory.  This is why it needs to be preserved, however it can.  Beyond that, Jackie Beat presents a yet unmatched standard of professionalism, creativity and excellence.  She is our George Carlin.  She is our Joan Rivers.  Hell, she even wrote for Joan Rivers, that’s how extraordinary she is.  Jackie Beat’s work is proof that gay themes by gay comedians can be the artistic equivalents in quality of their much more famous straight peers.

  As someone who appreciates contemporary drag, I would like to thank Jackie Beat for doing so much to influence it.  Every single comedy queen on RuPaul’s Drag Race, and a great many of them who don’t do comedy, are direct artistic descendants of Jackie Beat.  They crawled out of her cavernous pussy, swathed in rhinestones and mucus, and grew into the fierce queens that they are today.  Of course RuPaul deserves a great deal of credit for giving today’s young queens a platform, but may we never forget that today’s legendary children share an essential artistic link with both Mother Ru and Miss Jackie Beat.

  While Beat is still actively gigging, recent years have seen Beat concentrating her talents on comedy writing.  A proud member of the Writers Guild, she has written for Joan Rivers on Fashion Police and Ross Matthews on Hello Ross in addition to writing for other acclaimed comedians like Roseanne Barr and Rosie O’Donnell.  It’s only a matter of time before her writing talents are snatched up and she spends less time touring.  Jackie Beat may be a goddess, but even goddesses don’t gig forever.  If you’re a student of drag or a student of comedy, do yourself a huge favor and catch Jackie Beat live before she retires from the stage, leaving it all the poorer in her absence.

#jackie beat #joan rivers #rupaul #RuPaul's Drag Race #drag race #drag #drag queen #drag queens #divine #sharon needles #mimi imfurst #biance del rio #parody #dirty sanchez #comedienne

[theembitteredqueen]

Dear God No: The Rocky Horror Remake

The last dim light of my adolescence was just extinguished with Fox Studio’s announcement that they are remaking Richard O’Brien’s classic 1975 film The Rocky Horror Picture Show as a made for TV movie.  Slated to be a “reimaging” of the film (whatever the fuck that means) and not a remake, the made for TV special is tentatively slated to air in fall 2015.    

While remakes are nearly always poor ideas, this is a particularly terrible one.  For one, it is basic common sense that bad movies should not be remade.  Despite my love for the film, I have to admit that, objectively speaking, it sucks.  The film has basically no plot with only the audience’s familiarity with the B-movie clichés that it references moving the narrative forward.  It’s hard to imagine how anyone could salvage a decent film out of the source material, yet somehow the 1975 original worked.  Roger Ebert didn’t consider the film a genuine movie so much as a “long-running social phenomenon” and he was right.  The unique shadow cast culture that sprung up around the film saved it from obscurity.  The Rocky Horror Picture Show would have been all but forgotten were it not for the cult phenomenon that emerged in its wake.  Questionably acted with trite dialogue and cheap costuming, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is one of the cinema’s greatest bad movies and that kind of success is simply inimitable.  The film was propelled into the zeitgeist by the legions of fans who gathered in rundown art theaters for years to worship it.  This is the essence of the film’s enduring popularity and this phenomenon is impossible to replicate, much less on the small screen.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show simply has no aesthetic connection to television.  As a musical, it lends itself to theater while the film’s endless references to the sci-fi B-movies that birthed it lend it to the cinema.  There is no such link to television.  In fact, Rocky Horror shadow casts consider people who have only viewed the film on TV to be rocky virgins.  As the old saying amongst Rocky fanatics goes, watching it on TV doesn’t count; that’s just wrong.

Remakes of classic films consistently fail.  The 1998 remake of Psycho was an embarrassing failure, as was the recent remake of Carrie.  It took years for the smirch of NBC’s 1983 Casablanca remake to be scrubbed from the film’s legacy.  All of those movies are invariably tied to the cultural milieu that they arrived in.  The only classic movies that work as remakes are broad action films like King Kong and Godzilla, movies that are comprised almost entirely of explosive spectacle and marketed to a distinctly undiscerning palate.  All other classic movie remakes lose prestige and, of more relevance to the film’s producers, money.  40 years after its release, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is still making money for Fox Studios.  This is presumably why they want to remake it but a disastrous remake will inevitably compromise the film’s brand.  This will harm merchandising revenues, still going strong four decades since the film’s original release, and it threatens to kill the steady trickle of revenue that comes from the continual showing of the film in cinemas.  Rocky Horror is a cultural phenomenon that could potentially be destroyed by a crass remake.  The studio execs blinded by Rocky dollar signs should strongly consider the real possibility of losing revenue from the film long term.

It’s understandable why the older set of producers who greenlit this project would think that it’s a good idea to remake it now.  RuPaul’s Drag Race has exhibited a growing cult interest that shows no signs of slowing, Conchita Wurst’s brilliant genderfuck drag persona slayed the last Eurovision Song Contest while the LGBT community stands at an unprecedented state of visibility and acceptance.  But The Rocky Horror Picture Show has only a distant, tenuous connection to this modern phenomena.  The LGBT community, as it presently stands, is a highly organized, highly politicized conglomeration of respectable people, a far cry from the unrestrained libido and amoral bacchanalia of Tim Curry’s Frank N. Furter.  Frank N. Furter is an anti-hero who stands only for decadence, self-indulgence and perversity.  It’s a glorious spectacle but it’s also the exact antithesis of what the newly respectable LGBT community has been fighting for the last thirty years.  This character is distinctly unpalatable to today’s ultra-politicized and easily offended gays.  The producers of the remake claim that they want to stay as true to the source material as possible but that’s impossible.  The Rocky Horror Show episode of Glee necessitated several cuts to the source material and they still got in trouble anyways.  Clearly the producers can’t stick to the source material without running afoul with the modern day LGBT community, so what’s the point?  History has shown that remakes of classic films consistently fail outside their original cultural setting, the film has no aesthetic connection to television and the current cultural landscape is potentially unreceptive to the film’s course material.  Upon closer review, the proposed reimaging of The Rocky Horror Picture Show is simply pointless.

Slated to appear in fall 2015 as The Rocky Horror Picture Show Event, the TV remake is likely already in development.  It’s a shame that Fox Studios has decided to recklessly sully the cinema’s longest running movie, but hopefully the film’s dedicated shadow cast fan base will be resilient enough to withstand the remake.  I have met some of the most fascinating freaks, geeks and nerds that I know at showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  I think when the TV remake drops I’ll just pop on a pair of torn fishnets and go to one of the shadow cast showings of the original film instead, remembering all of the wonderful, filthy good times that I’ve had celebrating Richard O’Brien’s transvestite alien masterpiece.

#rocky horror #rocky horror show #rocky horror picture show #richard o'brien #remakes #classic movies #sweet transvestite #shadow cast #rocky horror picture show event #psycho #carrie

[theembitteredqueen]

Madonna’s Grill Is Not On Fleek

The premier of a new Madonna video is a cherished event for gay men, with homosexuals the world over collectively taking pause to absorb her newest artistic masterpiece.  Presumably rushed out following the commercial failure of her 90’s house homage “Living For Love,” her newest video for “Ghosttown” is unlikely to reinvigorate her fan base.  It’s a serviceable song but the video is hopelessly doomed by the repeated appearance of one of Madonna’s greatest visual faux pas.  Brace yourself for the unsightly return of Madonna’s white lady grills.

I have repeatedly railed against the tomfoolery that are white lady grills.  I didn’t like it the first time she wore them, I didn’t like them when Katy Perry followed suit afterword, and I still don’t like them now. Madonna’s grills have never been well received which makes their reappearance all the more baffling.  The rationale for her grill criticism varies.  Some feel that this is a woeful instance of black cultural appropriation, while other think that they’re just plain ugly.  Personally, I just think it’s tired. 

Grills on white people have not been fashionable, audacious or avant-garde for many years.  Jeffree Star rocked a grill in his Myspace days.  That was the better part of ten years ago and that was the last time that grills on a white person ever registered any sort of audacious effect.  It’s been done to death.  At this point grills on a white chick are about as fashion forward and avant-garde as a fanny pack.  Madonna’s stylist would do well to take note.

Due to its inherent comedic value, I am not necessarily opposed to all instances of white performers appropriating aspects of black culture.  I cannot reasonable expect the entertainers of this nation to maintain any standard of creativity or originality, so I understand the constant need for it, but the white folk grill is just lazy.  In a post Iggy Azalea world, rocking a grill just isn’t enough.  Cultural appropriation requires a certain amount of diligence and Madonna clearly no longer has it.  Madonna has repeatedly failed in her recent attempts at copping black culture.  Her collaborations with rap artists have been consistently terrible, her homage to Doctor King was poorly received and she’s still clinging to tooth bling.  This is just a tired series of clichés.  If was Madonna was truly enterprising in her appropriation of black culture, she would get shot by the police.  She needs to quit repeating herself and steal something fresh and new.

It’s not easy for me to say this.  I am always hesitant to criticize Madonna for fear that it will jeopardize my chances of one day sleeping with Andy Cohen, but I love Madonna too much to sit idly by while she repeatedly pushes out the same sloppy clichés.  Madonna has been putting up an exhaustive effort to keep up with the kids and it only serves to age her.  It’s dispiriting to see one of pop culture’s greatest architects constantly on Instagram, ensnared by the same smart phone social media culture that diminishes so many of her colleagues.  Madonna’s bizarre pandering to fad technology just makes her look desperate.  She baffled her fan base by premiering her debut “Rebel Heart” video on Snapchat and she followed that with an even less successful attempt at debuting “Ghosttown” on Meerkat.  The gimmicky smart phone app premiers are tiring, however I have to applaud her for Grindr Rebel Heart Sweepstakes.  Some felt that this was in extraordinarily poor taste, but this wasn’t self-promotion.  This was Christian charity.  Anyone who would wrap their Grindr profile pic in Madonna styled wire clearly has no prospects of getting laid, so they should at least be given free Madonna albums for the futile use of that application.  It’s good to see that Madonna still looks out for her gay fan base, particularly the unfuckable ones.

It’s too easy to dismiss Madonna as a dated prune in thigh highs, but Cher has shown us that a pop diva can continue to enthrall well into their autumn years.  Factoring out the grill, Madonna still looks fabulous.  She’s serving Stevie Nicks by way of Patsy Stone and I am absolutely living.  Madonna is one of pop music’s greatest auteurs and I will always love her.  I’m sure that Madonna will go on to thrill us once again, but she needs to get rid of that hideous grill first, and the sooner the better.

#madonna #ghosttown #grills #grillz #rebelheart #being on fleek #gross

[theembitteredqueen]

Tears of a Clown: The Trixie Mattel Story

RuPaul’s Drag Race is perhaps the most convincing argument for owning a television.  Drag Race is a reliably entertaining program but its greatest service to humanity is its yearly introduction of fabulous new entertainers who would otherwise be ignored by the mainstream media.   Each year Drag Race presents us with an intriguing mix of the extremely glamorous and the mentally ill.  The illustrious lineup of RuPaul’s Drag Race is generally comprised of a steady stream of washed up reality stars and amateur porn stars, but this season they gave us sometime truly special.  I refer to none other than the supreme ingénue of The Cream City, Miss Trixie Mattel.  Behold:

For those who don’t know, Trixie Mattel is a drag vixen, a comic, a supermodel and the world’s whitest Indian.  Trixie is acclaimed for all her talents, but she is perhaps most revered for her masterful visual artistry.  Trixie Mattel is essentially the aborted aesthetic lovechild of Lisa Frank and Bozo the Clown.  We’ll never know if Bozo ever discovered the erotic allure of cross dressing, but if he ever did, chances are he would sport a very close resemblance to Trixie Mattel.  

The artistry of Trixie Mattel is so great that it defies classification.  It’s hard to pin her down.  I could say that Trixie resembles a partially deflated heat damaged blow up doll, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate her powdered, pulpy essence.  I could say the she resembles a My Size Barbie doll that’s been weathered by the elements, but I’m still not quite there.  I could even go so far as to proclaim that she is the realization of Tim Curry in It as styled by Betsey Johnson, but that still doesn’t quite nail it.  Words can’t do Trixie justice.  You simply have to experience Trixie Mattel firsthand.  It’s a terrifying spectacle but one that you’ll never forget.

I thank RuPaul for finding it in her infinite wisdom to introduce Miss Mattel to the masses.  The world needs Trixie Mattel.  Not since Monique Alan have I witnessed someone so completely devoted to the pursuit of glamor.  We live in a world soaked past saturation in pretty and it’s nauseating.  Our culture is drowning in Kardashian cute, Katy Perry pretty, Taylor Swift fluff… and it’s totally gross.  The tropes of contemporary fashion do nothing to move my spirit, although they regularly move my bowels.  

Trixie Mattel represents pure, unbridled glamor and we should revere her for all that she does.  What’s more, Trixie doesn’t merely titillate, she teaches.  Her coloring book, available for free at www.TrixieMattel.com, is an invaluable tool in educating small children about the glories of transvestism.  Furthermore the stylistic sample set by Ms. Mattel can elevate anyone’s fashion game.  Trixie shows us that one’s lips can never be too big, nor their ass too padded, and her fearless use of fascinators is the most inspired use of a headpiece since Aretha Franklin’s iconic headpiece at Obama’s 2009 inauguration.

It would seem that Trixie Mattel has lead us to a new stylistic golden age yet suddenly, a mere four weeks after discovering her, tragedy struck.  Somehow, someway, in some terrifying alternate reality, RuPaul saw fit to send Trixie Mattel home after her 4th week on Drag Race.  This is incomprehensible given her awe inspiring artistry.  We can only imagine how Trixie feels about being defeating in a lipsync battle by a partially sedated woman in a shapeless onesie, but the sting of rejection will not be soon forgotten by her legions of fans.  The twittersphere was quick to declare its outrage, with the hashtag #JusticeForTrixie blowing up the twitter feeds of homosexuals the world over.  I fear that this outrage will burn out and fade away all too quickly.  We must hang on to our anger and never let it go.  I believe it was Edmund Burke who said that the only thing necessary for the triumph of busted drag is for good queens to do nothing.  If you are a true student of glamor, I implore you, grab your pitchfork and flaming torch and storm the offices of Logo TV.  Let them know that we demand vengeance.  We demand justice.  We demand Trixie.

If you’ve ever been scorned for your fashion principles, Trixie knows your pain.  For those that have been mocked for wearing that extra coat of lip gloss, that extra set of falsies, or half a couch worth of padding, Trixie is your redemption.  She represents victory over a sad, drab society.  Following Miss Mattel’s example, we will be lead not into trendy temptation, and delivered from busted evil.  Trixie, show us the way.

#trixie mattel #trixie #RuPaul's Drag Race #glamor #clown #clowns #JusticeForTrixie #Justice For Trixie #logo #edmund burke

[theembitteredqueen]

Babe of the Month: Thanksgiving Edition

One of my earliest gurlhood traumas can be traced back to my infatuation with In Living Color.  I remember watching it in absolute awe and I was particularly taken with The Fly Girls.  To me The Fly Girls were heroic, neon vixens.  They were the sexual embodiment of 90's glamour and everything that I ever wanted to be.  For a fleeting moment The Fly Girls provided a respite from my bleak, sissy gurlhood, but my dreams were to be crushed just as soon as they hatched as I realized that they were beautiful, curvaceous women and I was but a faggy femme imposter.  I could wiggle and jiggle all I want; I was no Fly Girl.  I would never fuck Jim Carrey, I would never be a girl on the 6 and I would never marry Marc Anthony.  In the end The Fly Girls' buxom, jiggly beauty was forever a reminder of faggy inadequacy.  Tragic.

Flash forward many years later.  An unexpected detour during a routine Jiz and the Mammograms video search lead me to Fly Young Red's seminal rap epic Throw That Boy Pussy.  Curious, I turned it on and my world was fundamentally rocked.  The now classic video features the dashing young rapper spitting tight rhymes over Lil' Wayne's "Wowzers" beat, all the while flanked by lithe, enticing, sexual... Fly Boys.  At that moment humanity collectively took a giant leap forward.  Fly Boys- at last!  The video presents a harem of supple, slender, enticing ladymen thrusting their buttocks mightily towards the heavens all to a pulsing beat.  When he spits, "Clap that ass in this pit/Let me see you clap that ass like a bitch/Yeah, I'm trying to get you back home/See if you can clap that ass on this dick," the surrounding Fly Boys clearly mean every writhing thrust.  This was a revelation.  My gayness was no deterrent after all.  I too could be a Fly Person and I could do it on my own terms.  I thank you, Fly Young Red, for teaching me this lesson.

But what of the man himself?  It's fitting that he titled his debut mixtape Pretty Boy Realness because he's an absolute beauty.  Fly Young Red is a suave, smooth piece of man candy and he is eminently lickable.  The man is a latter-day matinee idol and a queer dreamboat.  When he raps, "Man, I'm cool with his and hers/But I'm 'bout that his and his/Let me eat that boy pussy/It taste good like M&M's," Fly Young Red takes me to a sexual dreamworld and I never want to return.  Sometimes it's not enough to just be hot, you have to be clever, too.  Fly Young Red is a visionary, a revolutionary really, and he's poised to take the gay community to exciting new places.

As I sat to savor my yams this Thanksgiving, I gave some thought as to what I was truly thankful for.  The answer was clear; I was thankful for boy pussy and I tore into my turkey like it was a savory piece of hairy man ass.  I have Fly Young Red to thank for this.  Here's wishing that you all one day know the joy that I know.

#fly young red #the fly girls #fly boys #throw that boy pussy #gay rappers #booty #jennifer lopez #Lil Wayne #babe of the month #boy pussy #jiz and the mammograms

[theembitteredqueen]

Babe of the Month: Halloween Edition

Babe of the Month returns just in time for Halloween.  Halloween is a special time of year.  It’s a time when even the most mundane, mousy and reticent amongst us can reach deep down inside their closets and their souls and reveal their true selves.  All too often, their true self turns out to be a huge slut, thereby validating my world view.  Whether your true self manifests itself in the form of a sexy carrot, a sexy ear of corn, or the sure to be ubiquitous sexy ebola nurse, may the spirit of Halloween infect you all with mirth, merriment and trichomoniasis.

I have spent all month ruminating on a suitably foxy goth to take the Babe of the Month crown for the Halloween season.  After a turbulent month of internal deliberation, I present to you the perennial princess of the gothic kingdom, the inimitable Mana.

Mana rose to fame as the guitarist for venerable Visual Kei band Malice Mizer but he has since gone on to claim international superstardom as a goth fashion icon.  Icon isn’t a strong enough word.  Mana is an absolute titan in spooky fashion.  Picture a transvestite Dita Von Teese mashed with a goth Bob Mackie and you have some idea of the awesome breadth of Mana’s iconoclastic glamour.  Look, we all went through a gothic lolita stage in high school.  If yours was anything like mine, it was dominated by Hello Kitty lunchboxes, a shit ton of bracelets, Manic Panic Deadly Nightshade lip color (I learned the hard way that black lipstick is never conducive to giving a decent blowjob) and treasured dog-eared issues of The Gothic Lolita Bible.  It was then that I was introduced to Mana’s breathtaking beauty and my dreams have never been the same.

Mana’s life is shrouded in mystery, sheathed in stretchable glow in the dark spider webs, and adorned with black lipstick.  Little is known of his personal life but if the rumors are true, Mana is a heterosexual.  Ryan Gosling and Nick Jonas can fuck off into oblivion.  If you’re looking a fucking stud, it’s Mana.  Transvestites get a bad rap.  Far too many women are too intimidated to date a man that’s prettier than they are but that is a pity.  If anyone can erase this prejudice, it’s Mana.  This man’s beauty transcends gender and sexuality, emerging in a higher plane of human fuckability.  I could stare at Mana for hours, quaking in rapture.  Mana is a cosplay legend and his luminous beauty has inspired countless admirers to vie for fashion glory.  Godspeed little goths. It is my hope that Mana’s immeasurable foxiness will inspire you to strive for your own personal cosplay glory this Halloween.  Knock yourselves out, kids.  Just don’t take any unwrapped candy.  That didn’t work out for Rock Hudson and it’s not going to work out for you.

#mana #malice mizer #visual kei #transvestite #trichomoniasis #halloween #goth #gothic princess #babe of the month #cosplay

[theembitteredqueen]

An Ode to Joan: The World’s Finest Cunt

By virtue of being a gay man who exists in the world, I was deeply moved, profoundly inspired, and endlessly entertained by Joan Rivers.  Her voice sounded like it took two loads and three shots of jack all at the same time.  Her face was an eerie amalgam of flesh, plastic and collagen.  Her wardrobe dripped in a bizarre mash-up of designer clothing and QVC jewelry.  All of this framed and adorned one of the most blessedly filthy mouths that has ever graced the Earth.  Yes, Joan was an absolute original. 

She’s gone now having ascended to heaven to hold court with the departed spirits of Lenny Bruce and Robin Williams.  I like to think that she’s doing the wheelbarrow with Andy Kaufman right now.  She will be forever missed.

Rather than crying over a corpse, I think it would be far more sporting to take a moment to reflect on just how truly unique and special she was.   Though Joan has inspired and informed countless lady comics during her half -century-long career, there can be no inheritors to her kingdom.  There was Joan and only Joan.  And so it will always be.

Joan Rivers was always a lady, even when she was being a foul mouthed cunt.  See, Joan Rivers was never influenced by modern day feminism.  She helped create modern day feminism.  Joan started her career before the National Organization for Women even existed.  Joan Rivers wasted no time brandishing rhetoric or marching with picket signs.  Rather than endlessly talking about women’s equality, Joan Rivers embodied women’s equality.  There was no template for her comedy.  There was no women’s group congratulating her for working twice as hard as her male peers.  Joan Rivers had to be so visionary as to create her own template, her own genre of comedy.  This was an awe inspiring testament to an indomitable will.  Despite all the flattery that has poured out after her passing, we still have not truly comprehended the awesome breadth and scope of her accomplishments.  She was the ultimate feminist and she accomplished everything without ever once brandishing a single academic buzzword or tired liberal platitude.  Her actions spoke infinitely louder than academic jargon ever could.

Despite her herculean efforts to demonstrate, not articulate but demonstrate, women’s equality, Joan frequently found herself at odds with feminism throughout her career.  The main reason why another female comic will never truly inhabit Joan’s realm is that they are all invariably influenced in some way by feminism.  Feminism was and remains a hugely important social movement, but like all political movements it is hopelessly awash in stigma and dogma.  Feminism works to reaffirm social and political identities; comedy, at its core, works to destroy them. 

Comedy serves no master.  It’s commonplace for most contemporary artists to pander in some way to the tenets of liberalism, but art and politics have never had a happy marriage.  Most political movements are built in some way on an idealized version of the people who created them.  It works chiefly for self-perpetuation and by doing so, invariably compromises its sagacity.  Feminism and its sister LGBT political movements are no different.  The bedrock of Joan’s humor was the delivery of unpleasant truths.  A careful examination of Joan’s humor reveals a view of gender as a few immutable truths compounded by a hell of a lot of bullshit.  One gets the impression that as much as things change, they stay just as much the same.  If you’re the type of person who agitates for hope and change, it’s rather inconvenient to be reminded of that.

Upon her passing, Andrea James noted, “Now that Joan Rivers has died, we should retire the word ‘comedienne’ in her honor. She was the last one. Every female comic since is simply a comedian.”  I think this is very true.  Some feminists criticized Rivers for what was perceived to be an endorsement of compulsory femininity.  There is a sense that Joan felt that, on some level, men would always be men and women would always be women.  Joan was a product of her time.  She never altered her act to endorse the long fashionable belief that gender was entirely a cruel social construct.  Had she compromised herself and her humor, she would have stopped being Joan.  Thank God she was such a stubborn bitch.

There was a sense among many that Joan was mean.  There were even laughable assertions of misogyny.  Joan Rivers has done more for women’s equality than all of her activist detractors put together.  Joan Rivers nearly single handedly created a template that all bawdy funny ladies in some way work from.  The woman was making abortion jokes long before Amy Schumer made it passé …and in the 60’s, no less!  The balls.  The absolute fucking balls.  It’s still so hard to believe that she did it.  Joan mocked everything.  Everything.  And she proved just how profoundly healing that could be.  Joan recognized that suppressing things gave it their power.  Joan showed us how comedy could empower and heal.  This was an essential cornerstone to her work and a precious gift to her audience.

Yet still she was derided as backwards and mean.  Jennifer Lawrence provided a typically uncritical analysis of Joan’s work when she criticized her popular TV show Fashion Police for contributing to a hostile social environment for women.  Lawrence was, for a brief time, hailed as a feminist hero for calling out lookism, sizeism and sexism in her industry.  I call it bullshit.  Of course Fashion Police was mean.  Of course Fashion Police was misogynistic.  Fashion Police was all these things because the world is mean and the world is misogynistic.  Fashion Police had the nerve to treat the industry as it was.  Any celebrity who decries lookism in their industry while simultaneously benefitting from it is a twit.  Joan Rivers was not mocking common women for having the audacity to appear gauche or gain weight.  Rather Joan Rivers made a career out of calling out the world’s most cosseted and privileged people.  The beautiful people featured on Fashion Police all made a killing out of pandering to the whims of a shallow, stupid industry.  These people were playing a game, pure and simple.  That’s all it ever was and Joan intimately knew that from her decades-long time within it.  It would be far more pernicious to pretend that the industry was, or could ever be, anything different.  Joan had no interest in entertaining the preposterous notion that these people aren’t benefiting from the same twisted social mores that they professed to decry.  Cutting a Kristie Alley fat joke from Fashion Police would have no effect on the social realities that created and perpetuate sizeism.  Joan’s jokes were a way of calling attention to the way the world as it really is, savage and cruel, and humor is our greatest weapon to for surviving such a world.

For Joan, jokes were jokes.  They were reflections of an absurd world and she adamantly refused to apologize for them.  Joan started to gain the ire of an increasingly hyper sensitized LGBT community towards the end of her career.  This is a sad irony as Joan was one of the LGBT community’s greatest allies.   Joan was completely aloof to political fashions.  She mocked everything and everyone, for that is the way of the comic.  There was sometimes an attitude that Joan should have left some people alone, that if Joan just didn’t mock this one group or this one thing everything would be fine.  To Joan, this was pity.  And pity was death to her.  Joan Rivers had an unwavering respect for gay people.  Even before her death it was not uncommon to see Joan’s smirking, plastic face popping up in a drag queen’s twitter feed.  Unlike present fashion, Joan never pandered to the gay community.  Instead she worked with them as equals, as peers, and created art that was relevant to them.  Whether it was her late night talk show, her daytime talk show, her late career web series or simply guesting at a Gay Pride, Joan never hesitated to engage gay artists as anything less than her peers.  May we never forget that one of Joan’s first career breaks was playing Barbra Streisand’s lesbian admirer in a play during the late 50’s.  Yes, in the motherfucking 50’s.  And playing a lesbian was her idea.  For years Joan Rivers has enjoyed a semi-mythical status as a folk hero amongst slutty queers.  That reputation was well deserved.

Reflecting on the way of the comic, Joan remarked, “We don’t apologize for a joke.  We are comics.  We are here to make you laugh.  If you don’t get it, then don’t watch us.”  It’s hard for more sensitive people to understand Joan’s view that laughter always justified the means.  If Joan was truly driven solely by celebrity and fame as her detractors alleged she would have long since compromised herself for mass appeal.  Joan never apologized, never changed because working was her greatest reward.  For her to stop working was to stop living.  It is fitting that Joan’s last gig was in a small comedy club the night before the ill-fated throat operation that killed her. Her work ethic was awe inspiring; she was a millionaire many times over and had absolutely no financial incentive to perform at small comedy venues.  She did it for the love of comedy and the love of her work.  Her work was her life and she desperately loved life.  Joan Rivers may have been an avid proponent for self-induced miscarriages, but her unyielding enthusiasm for living was one of the most genuinely pro-life aesthetics that I’ve ever seen.

Everyone has seen Joan Rivers on the red carpet, or on a comedy special or, if you were really lucky, at one of her stand-up appearances, but to truly understand Joan Rivers you have to watch her documentary.  Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work was released in 2010.  It remains the most intimate and revealing portrait of her genius.  I have a special place in my heart for that movie.  I was at a particularly shitty time in my life.  My plan B, plan C, and plan D had all fallen out.  I was unemployed, crazy and so incredibly broke that I couldn’t afford drugs.  In short, I was miserable.  I wandered into the theater in a daze.  I was at that very special place in life where I just thought, “This is it.  I guess I have to figure out how I’m going to kill myself.”  I sat there, absorbing Joan’s filthy genius.  Joan knew death intimately.  Her husband killed himself in 1987 and it devastated her.  She fittingly blamed herself remarking, “My husband killed himself. And it was my fault. We were making love and I took the bag off my head.”  Towards the end of the movie I started to hear a little raspy voice in my head saying, “Kill yourself?  What kind of fucking idiot are you?  Think of all the cocks you could be sucking instead!”  Wise counsel, Joan.  For Joan life was the greatest gift and that’s why never stopped working.  Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work was Joan’s chance to explain her life and work and she did it a fuck of a lot better than I just did.  Do yourself a favor and watch it.

It’s only appropriate that I end with Joan’s stand-up.  Joan hated ass kissing (oops) and preferred to let her work speak for itself.  I present to you Joan’s monologue at the end of her Comedy Central roast.  This is a master at work.  She fittingly declared her intention to never stop, citing that comedy needs her.  She was right then and it’s still true.  We fucking need Joan Rivers and we are poorer for having lost her.

Joan worked and worked, struggled and struggled, but she’s at peace now.  Though I will always miss her jokes and antics, I can take heart in knowing that she’s up in heaven now, cracking abortion jokes with the angels.

#joan rivers #lenny bruce #andy kaufman #feminism #andrea james #comedienne #amy schumer #jennifer lawrence #fashion police #barbra streisand #gay icon

[theembitteredqueen]

Babe of the Month: Grant Imahara

Geeks across the nation have joined in mourning the departure of Kari Byron, Tory Bellici and Grant Imahara from the wildly popular nerd show Mythbusters.  Grant Imahara has taken residence in the more delicate chambers of my heart for some time now, so it is only appropriate that he is now immortalized as an official Babe of the Month.

Mythbusters has a special place in my heart.  Several years ago I was stranded in a Godforsaken foreign country and my only access to English-speaking television was the Discovery channel.  It was then that I discovered Mythbusters and its most glamorous cast member, Grant Imahara.  I have attempted to communicate my immense regard for Mr. Imahara for some time and I am consistently met with blank stares.  The prevailing wisdom about this show is that Tori Bellici is the resident hottie of the series.  (Fools.  Jamie Hyneman is a Poppa Bear par excellence.)  While there’s no debating that Tory Bellici is tasty morsel of manliness, he is no match for the huggable squishability of Grant Imahara. 

The man is adorable.  Period.  It is my hope that this writing will lay to rest any remaining disputes about Grant’s epic cuddle-bility.  Grant Imahara’s elfen glamor is the stuff of legend.  As if the cuteness, the sheer, utter cuteness, is somehow not enough, the man possesses studly genius on an astonishing scale.  The man makes robots, for Christ sakes.  Robots.  He designed the robotic mechanism that powers the Energizer Bunny, he’s made frequent appearances on BattleBots, he makes stuff blow up… do I seriously have to list more than one thing when he designed the fucking Energizer Bunny?  Genius is sexy.  How else can we explain Einstein’s rampant manwhoring?  There’s no negating a hot ass or a bulging package, but nothing gets the panties wet quite as consistently as a studly genius. 

If I may return to his epic cuteness, what can be made of a man who will openly perform Star Trek cosplay with no shame?  Babehood, that’s what we make of it.  And steam punk cosplay and Doctor Who cosplay… I think I need a cold shower.

Nerd sex appeal is tragically underrated.  It is high time that we recognize the long devalued sex appeal of our nation’s nerds and there are none so nerdly as Grant Imahara.  A sexy nerd can perform a wizard melee attack on my pussy any day.  I am more than just a blogger; I am patriot.  As one of this country’s finest Americans, I enact the following motion: I hereby elevate Grant Imahara and his nerdly brethren to the high level of our nation’s babes.  Nerds, emerge from your basement chambers and take your place amongst our nation’s finest studs.

#grant imahara #tory belleci #kari byron #jamie hyneman #mythbusters #nerds #geeks #sexy nerd #cosplay #babe of the month #poppabear

[theembitteredqueen]

Introducing Glamorous Monique

I am an immensely fortunate person.  It is true that I am in no want of food or shelter and live a fairly comfortable life, but that’s not why I consider myself fortunate.  It is also true that I have an exciting career blogging for the rapture of tens upon tens of people, but that’s not why I consider myself so lucky.  I consider myself so blessed and fortunate because I have known of the existence of Glamorous Monique for many years.  A great many are just learning about the wonder and the majesty of Glamorous Monique however I’ve been basking in her radiant beauty for years and years.  I know, it just doesn’t seem fair.

For the sake of those poor souls who don’t know who I’m talking about, I present to you Glamorous Monique. 

Glamorous Monique is a trans icon and a purveyor of pure, unspoiled beauty.  For years Monique has been working as a nightlife fixture.  She not only serves flawless couture and effortless face but she has also made waves for her original music.  38 Triple F, Punch My Kitty and the aptly titled The People’s Tranny are all under recognized musical jems that should live on and prosper in the hearts, minds and smart phones of discerning homosexuals. 

As you can see, Glamorous Monique wears many hats, model, actress, musician, provocateur but she is just now breaking through to a wider audience with her recent appearance on E!’s Botched, a reality television show that centers on people who have had botched plastic surgery.  Botched?  Hardly.  We’re talking about a woman who has labored tirelessly to embody the perfect three-way love child of Jackie Stallone, Amanda Lepore and Bruce Jenner.  This is an artist at work and it says woeful things about our society that she has not been suitably exalted for this.  Glamorous Monique is a masterpiece from head to toe, be it her unclockable style, indulgently ample bosom or her delicate collagen curves.  If I had to choose one favorite feature, I would have to choose her lips.  Her lips are like a prolapsed sideways vagina teetering precariously (yet deliciously!) on a duckbill.  That alone would be too much for lesser women, but Monique goes a step further and shellacs them until they have reached a flawless ceramic sheen.  This, dear readers, is perfection.

You’ll have to tune in to see whether LA’s finest surgeons could in any way further refine Monique’s already flawless features.  After that take to the internet, take to the streets and spread the word.  Let everyone know about the regal majesty of Glamorous Monique.  I recommend getting in on this now.  It’s only a matter of time until she gets an American Apparel endorsement deal and finally receives the recognition that she deserves.  Don’t be the last fag to jump on the Glamorous Monique band wagon and one day you can say that you knew her when.

#Glamorous Monique #collagen #plastic surgery #perfection #unspoiled beauty #Botched #silicone #glamour #Jackie Stallone #amanda lepore #bruce jenner

[theembitteredqueen]

Anal Exorcists Will Save Us All.

There seems to be no shortage of urban legends surrounding gay sexuality these days but it looks like we’re going to have to count another one.  A hot new theory in fundamentalist Christianity claims that gay men’s compulsively deviant behavior is caused by fart demons, namely putrid smelling demons that infest the anal canal and cause the host to jones for cock.  The progenitor of this claim, Pastor Bert Farias of Holy Fire Ministries explains:

“Homosexuality is actually a demon spirit. It is such a putrid smelling demon that other demons don’t even like to hang around it… There is an account in the Bible where Jesus casts out 2,000 demons out of a man. The demons came out screaming and begged Jesus to send them into the pigs. The pigs didn’t want them, so they ran down a steep hill and were drowned in the sea.  Pigs have more sense than some humans[.]   People embrace homosexual demons, but the pigs would rather die than be possessed with demons.”

It stands to reason that gay men, with their inherent proclivity towards sodomy, have since been infested by these spirits.  Ergo, fart demons.

Look, I’m sorry guys, but I’m going to have to own up to this one.  This is probably my fault.  There was a time in my life where I was convinced that my asshole was haunted.  I was really into felching at the time and it just seemed to make sense.  The ghosts hounded my hole day and night, leaving discharges and oozing sores in their wake.  Doctors were unconvinced with my ghost theory and eventually drove the spirits out with an aggressive dosage of antibiotics.  The ghosts vacated their dwelling and have since been replaced by HPV.  I’ve shared this theory with the bevy of prominent religious figures that I’ve bedded and it all likely snowballed into the fart demon theory that you’re now reading.  Bert Farias looks like about a dozen people I’ve fucked, so he may or may not have been one of my besties at Steamworks.   Either way the fart demon theory is now a thing and we all have to deal with it.

I realize this is irritating.  If you’re an altar boy that has had fart demons postulations ruin your intimate time, you have my sincerest apologies.  I’m not proud of this but we’ve all done fucked up things while rolling on Tussionex.  Besides anyone who willingly reads this blog is a whore, so who are you to judge?  I now know to be significantly more choosey about the ministers I take as sex partners.  I’ll never know whether the demon spirits in my ass were ghosts, a voodoo curse, or simply rectal gonorrhea, but if I have any future questions I’m sure Bert Farias can answer them.  He seems to have an invested interest in the activities of gay men’s asses, so I’m sure there’s no rectal spirit he can’t exorcise.  All he needs is Holy water, the good book and a can of Crisco.

#steamworks #praythegayaway #fundamentalistchristianity #felching #fundamentalists

[theembitteredqueen]

Babe of the Month: Mark Selby

Rack ‘em up, readers, for our July Babe of the Month has arrived.  I present to you Mr. Mark Selby, champion snooker player, jokester, and superbly fine piece of ass.  

I previously thought that snookering meant modeling cut-rate Snooki drag for weed money, but apparently it’s a bona fide thing and Mark Selby is the Michelle Kwan of it.  Selby is the current World Snooker Champion, but far more importantly he’s hot.  Imagine a younger, cleaner Adam Levine that doesn’t look like a small time meth dealer and you’ve got Mark Selby.  He’s known as the Jester from Leicester, but I gotta’ tell you, that ass is no joke. 

That thing just doesn’t quit.  It’s like two plump rump roasts wrapped in boxer briefs and stuffed into a gloriously snug set of slacks.  His ass has attained its own celebrity, generating more press lately than he has.  That’s an understandable scenario, given the utter perfection of his hindquarters.  You’d think that Selby would beat off lusty gay suitors with a pool cue but, in a cruel twist of fate, Mark Selby and his ass are both heterosexuals.  The profound tragedy of this fact cannot be overstated.  Such a deliciously firm ass is destined to hungrily clap down on a cock like a true dick pig should, but sadly his wife would probably contest such a scenario.  Fate is a cruel, fickle thing.

Mark Selby and his glorious ass will have to be relegated to masturbatory fodder.  Fap away, readers, but please remember this.  Bottoming on a pool table is a tried and true tradition but just remember silicone-based lube stains.  Be advised. 

#mark selby #snooker #babe of the month #piece of ass #fine ass #silicone lube #snooki

[theembitteredqueen]

#SaveTheCokeHeads

File this one under “Holy Fuckidity Fuck” because flesh eating cocaine is real.  A rash of severe cases of skin rot has been traced back to tainted cocaine and the outlook looks grim.  It’s estimated that 80 percent of the nation’s blow supply is tainted.  80 percent?  Holy Hell.  If Lindsay Lohan’s face melts off, we know what the culprit is.

The tainted blow was cut with levamisole, a veterinary drug used to deworm livestock.  I couldn’t help but chuckle at that.  Kids these days.  In my day we’d cut our coke with Equal packets swiped from Denny’s.  It was a tried and true tradition, but oh no, the kids had to go and get creative and we find ourselves in this horrible position.  The levamisole can trigger a severe immune reaction that leads to the zombified skin rot.  The estimated contamination rate is terrifyingly high, posing a staggering threat to public health.  If we don’t act soon everyone will wind up looking like Pete Doherty.

This epidemic has the potential to dismantle our entire society.  Sensationalist news coverage of partially decomposed blow addicts could lead the public to think that drug use is somehow dangerous.  This scenario would invariably lead the international drug market to plummet, leading to terrifyingly dire consequences.  Let’s think rationally for a second.  If people discontinue cocaine use en masse, entire markets would crumble and collapse.  How could the fashion industry ever function without cocaine?  Our nation’s models depend on cocaine as an essential life force.  Barring an unforeseeable emergence of gangrene chic, it’s likely that models will abandon the drug.  If their blow winds up rotting out their skin they could risk venturing out to strange alternate fuel sources, like food.  A fashion model without cocaine?  Glamour would die a horrible death.  But that’s not all.  Without a healthy demand for cocaine the fragile economies of Latin Market would likely face swift collapse.  Colombia would probably sink into the Earth. 

But that’s not the worst part.  I have our nation’s true heroes in mind: child actors.  For generations our country’s child actors have relied upon a ready and available coke supply to help them ease the transition from fresh faced precocious youth to washed up has-beens.  What of Aaron Carter?  Amanda Bynes?  Lohan, for Christ sakes!  Without cocaine greasing its wheels, it’s all too likely that the entire entertainment industry will grind itself into oblivion. 

A drug free world?  That’s horrifying.  I couldn’t imagine making it through the day without something to take the edge off.  Repeatedly.  I’ve spoken at great length about my admiration for drug addicts.  It is their frenzied dedication and heightened, excitable focus that make our society work.  If you share my concern and reverence for our nation’s drug addicts, let this be a call to action.  I’m certain that somehow, someway we can fix this problem.  Together we can make a difference.  Go to the streets and demand change.  Join me and let’s work together to #SaveTheCokeHeads.

#cocaine #blow #flesheatingcocaine #heroes #aaron carter #amanda bynes #lindsay lohan #lohan #pete doherty #HolyFuckidityFuck #SaveTheCokeHeads