Here comes the smolder.

Gay Prince made his return today, a veritable Vincent Vega in his pencil tie and Pulp suit; as welcome to me as the undies of Robert Downey Jr (on my floor come Sunday morning).

And for once, I was triumphant. Super hero, hands on hips, cape billowing in the breeze, tri-oomph-ant. Because, much like a citizen of Jupiter resolved to assimilate with humankind to find a new life, I rose early today and coiffed my galactic ass to within an inch of its life. Translation: I have blushing lips, mermaid hair and hips that corner like they’re on rails.

There he stood, the Vega to my Wallace, hovering by the gunslingers.

Gal Gun threw her head back and laughed like a maniacal crash-test dummy. Not about to join the meeting of the mines (aka land), I gave him the nod and retreated to my seat (like a Grammy award-winning hip-hop artist upon entering Diddy Puff’s crib, yo). Then I ignored him, striking (I like to think) a beautiful balance between regal and reflux (aka acid).

Finally. After the first handicap African-American lesbian little person was inaugurated into the White House, my Prince came to stand at my desk. He grins his bing-a-ling down at me and (this is a good angle for me) I smile up him, as if he’s come upon me in a meadow of dandelions, my harp lying nearby. “You look lovely today”. Booyar, bet your ass I do.

“I see you put in effort this morning.”

And there it is. Is this where Disney and reality divide, like the chasm that is Tori Spelling’s cleavage? I guess you’re only as good as your last disguise, and clearly mine was akin to Gene Hackman upon Birdcage exit. Gal Gun watches this exchange with barrel eyes.

I promised you back story, so here ’tis: I suspect they may have done the (drum roll)… horizontal mam-bo. If not in front of a live studio audience, then per’aps a little footwork in the lady’s green room (wink wink, nudge nudge). HONK! HONK!

See, Gal Gun has many male friends (no women, whaddayaknow) and, like knights of the round tookus, they circle her in a mirror of programmed reflection. Pseudo boyfriends to admire and make credible the press release. I’ve felt for some time that Gay Prince fit into this Seussian landscape someplace. But where, exactly?

“From there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere!”

Until now I had remained invisible to the story book she was weaving but, as she struck down upon thee with baleful eyes and furious envy, it appeared her eyes’d caught up with her ego.

About the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

57 Responses to “Here comes the smolder.”

  1. I dunno .. I still hear De Niro when I read the wucster, sometimes

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  1. we’re just like hollywood « Trask Avenue - February 26, 2012

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