It was just a regular day in Down town Lancaster; me and my good friend Gok Wan were sipping skinny soy mocha frappuccinos and laughing it up about people we know. He was telling me some rip roaring tale about how all the middle aged fatties he strips off for telly don't look good naked and it's basically his back ground in CGI as well as anything else that makes the program even broadcastable let alone believable. I was agreeing with him, I said that's just like the way I convince stupid nineteen year olds I'm in love with them so they'll have sex with me.
We were both laughing heartily about how tragic other people are when who should walk in, none other than Hilary fucking Clinton. I can't believe she'd even show her face in Market Square, let alone come into Nero's where she knows Gok will be with a latte or a chai of some kind. And in case you've been in a coma that sent you back to the seventies and you've spent the last two seasons wondering whether you're mad, in a coma or back in time, I'll fill you in: Gok HATES Hilldog; no one knows why but the last person to bring her up ended up not looking so good naked with scarring from sternum to scrotum- he can get like that after a couple of extra-strong lagers, but as I always stress to people; ONLY if you provoke him.
Anyway, up gets Gok and storms out, dashing his skinny soy mocha frappaccino in the would be presidential face and leaves before she can even thank him for the pleasure. Lancaster is like this so I’m not surprised; it’s just one stream of glamorous gowns and cat fights; like Dallas really but without the oil. Bad move, Clinton, I say, coming in here when you know this is Gok Wan’s turf. She wiped away the milky foam from her mouth like a ninties white house intern and said; when he hears what I have to say, he’ll be buying me skinny soy mocha frappuccinos just to have me fire them off in his face.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
