To Pee or Not to Pee
President Donald J. Trump, who rolled back landmark guidance to public schools letting transgender students use the bathrooms of their choice, reversing an initiative of Barack Obama. Trump supporters would have you believe that transgender kids want access to the bathroom to sexually assault innocent girls. But I have strong memories of using the bathroom in grade school (I still wake up screaming after having nightmares about it) and I know that the most traumatic scenarios took place using a toilet assigned to my own gender. Looking at the magnificent physical specimen I am now, it may shock you to learn that I was a skinny and physically unprepossessing youth, easy prey to the type of bully personified by Donald Trump. I wanted to get in and out of the boy's room as quickly as possible before a Trump-like thug tried to stuff my head in the toilet. Believe me, if I'd could have used the girls' bathroom, I would have; not because I wanted to ogle the young ladies, but because I would have stood a better chance of getting out of there with my life. Transgender kids are vulnerable enough to being hassled by orange tormenters with turban-like comb-overs; the last thing they need is a Lord of the Flies No Man's Land where those assholes can make their lives hell, free of adult supervision. I guarantee you that Mr. Trump was never on the receiving end of the kind of bullying that takes place in countless boys' room so he never developed any empathy for what those kids endure on a daily basis. If he ever did have his head stuffed in a toilet, he'd not only have developed some compassion but he might have wound up with better hair. Everybody wins.
Speaking of urination, my vlogger buddies Robin Greenspan and Lacie Harmon, whose most recent video depicted them prank-calling high-end Trump hotels demanding to know if the concierge could arrange for a hooker to pee on them during their stay. I have no idea if President Trump is actually into this activity but as someone who sleeps with a pug with iffy bladder control, I can assure Labin (as they are known in the tabloids) that I find nothing erotic whatsoever about someone peeing on me in bed. Many's the time that I've laid my head down for restful slumber only to be rudely woken by my beloved pug Winston urinating on my face; and whatever morning wood I might have accumulated during the night immediately devolves into silly putty. Mind you, if the commander in chief is into golden showers, I don't judge him for it. The way he's been fucking up, I encourage him to pursue whatever stress relief he can find. As for Mesdames Greenspan and Harmon, I have no evidence that they are really into being peed on either but I hope they give me a heads up if they are staying in a Trump hotel before me so that I can ask that the sheets be changed. I usually travel with Winston and he prefers to work with a blank canvas.
Speaking of Robin Greenspan, Robin Greenspan, who I bumped into at the United for America Rally at the Islamic Center for Southern California. Ms. Greenspan attended the rally to show her solidarity with a community that is in danger of being marginalized and even singled out for harassment by an authoritarian regime. I was there to pick up chicks. Nevertheless, Ms. Greenspan's passion for the issue got me worked up and by the time the rally was over, I was ready to go toe-to-toe with any brownshirt bastard who comes to staple a yellow star on my Islamic brethren. Although to be honest, my history of fighting indicates that they'd just stomp on my face with their iron boot. It's just as well that by the time the crowd had thinned, the primary person Ms. Greenspan wanted to beat up was me. I guess that's inevitable when a married lesbian comes in contact with a sexual predator whose primary interest is hitting on women but it's for the greater good because after she kicked my ass (which she undoubtedly would), she'd be warmed up to take on the brownshirts. We all have a role to play in this war on oppression and mine is punching bag.
James Jaeger, with whom I will be watching the Academy Awards ceremony this Sunday night. Mr. Jaeger has taken great pains as to what my post-heart attack diet allows me to eat during the viewing party so that he'll have acceptable chow for my arrival. Or so he would have me believe. You see, Mr. Jarger gave a magnificent performance as a green space alien in my legendary production of U.S.S. Pinafore a decade ago, and I always suspected he harbored bitterness at my insistence on his having an emerald complexion for the show. It's pretty obvious that he intends to load me up with foodstuffs that will make me as green as he was in U.S.S. Pinafore, and thereby take his revenge. The joke's on him, since the amazingly overrated La La Land is projected to win the majority of the awards so I'd wind up feeling nauseous even without his dietary meddling. And if Emma Stone wins Best Actress I'll probably piss myself, which will please Donald Trump to no end. It looks like all my enemies have a great weekend in store.
The always-annoying Tom Ashworth, who recently made a video to immortalize his rock n' roll essence. Since Mr. Ashworth is always on the cutting edge of contemporary music, the song he rocked out to was Simon & Garfunkel's 1966 chestnut Feelin' Groovy (officially titled The 59th Street Bridge Song). I am in no position to question Mr. Ashworth's god-awful taste in music since the very first musical audition I ever went out on, I sang Feelin' Groovy without even the forethought of bringing sheet music so that I had to sing a capella (shockingly, I didn't get the job). I will say that Mr. Ashworth's rendition was much better than mine, if only because he was accompanying himself on the ukulele (a decidedly underrated instrument). He may not have been quite at the level of Simon & Garfunkel but at least he didn't make me want to jump off the 59th Street Bridge, which is how I felt after I fucked up that audition so many decades ago. I hope Mr. Ashworth's next video is of him performing Harry Niilsson's You're Breaking My Heart, So Fuck You. If there's one thing I need, it's more depressing musical reminders of disastrous moments in my past.