People ask me why I think that I have the diplomacy skills my opponent lacks. I think my record clearly speaks for itself. I have talked down butches from fighting in fountains. I mended fences within the community in the aftermath of a pride float gone awry (too much baby oil). And I will never forget the time that I stopped the violence from escalating when an angry, drunken drag queen went all Joan Crawford at Kit Kat.
It was a warm August evening back in the summer of 2006. The evening started off pleasantly enough. After a hard parallel parking job, we got out of the car and quickly had to duck and run for cover as MAC nail polish, surgical tape and size 14 stilettos flew at us. A flat-chested drag queen with ripped fishnets and no shoes could be seen standing on the corner yelling at passersby, asking "Which one of you *expletive deleted* took my birdseed?!"
We were supposed to enjoy dinner and martinis on the patio but under the circumstances, they moved everyone inside. After we were seated, our orders could hardly be heard as the drag queen, Talula Choksondic, straddled the bar, pounded on her chest and shouted, "No show tonight, MFs! I ain't got none of these. MFs stole my birdseed!"
I knew something had to be done. I had just stopped at the pet store to get C & S their food. With Nutro bag in hand, I took a deep breath and entered Talula's dressing room. The look she gave (a cross between Cruella De Vil and Chris Crocker on YouTube) upon seeing me would have stopped many, including my opponent, dead in their tracks. But I calmly filled her nylons with Nutro and demonstrated that while they might prove a bit lumpy, they would suffice for the evening. The show went on and the crowd was delighted by her stirring performance of "Umbrella".
So I ask you, when that Crackberry vibrates at 3 a.m. and word gets out that there is a queen in need of falsies, who would you trust to pick it up?
