OH-BITCH-UARY!

"Stop beating on his chest -- it's no use, he's gone!  I'm calling the time of death at...

(Looks at wristwatch)

4:12 PM.

(Bows head in silence, then suddenly looks towards the heavens and yells with anger)

Why this one?  WHY!?"

"I'm very sorry for your loss..."

The sad scenario above took place yesterday afternoon when one of my very best friends -- at whose place I used to spend a lot of my free time -- "passed." This friend's name was Vincent and he was a real saint. Now I realize they always say that about those who leave us too soon, but in this case it's true. See, my "friend" was none other than St. Vincent de Paul -- best known for his amazing thrift store. Oh yeah, and helping poor people and stuff.

This is true, but SVDP also pisses some people off!

The St. Vincent de Paul thrift store, conveniently located in the Lincoln Heights area of Los Angeles, used to be legendary. It was, like me, huge and cheap. Little by little, sections have been closed off and prices have steadily gone up. Suddenly, everything is a rare collectible -- even items that have obviously made their way there from the 99 Cent Only Store. Broken items are priced as if they were in mint condition and knock-offs are given price tags that would barely be acceptable if they were the real thing! And while I'm on the subject, if you run a store that sells old books, records, paintings and/or anything else that people may get excited about and want to purchase, may I kindly suggest that you spend a few pennies more on price stickers that won't ruin EVERYTHING they are fucking stuck on!?  Thank you.

The real sticker shock comes when you realize your item is RUINED!

And you may remember my recent blog post about how, while perusing the racks of womens dresses, I became increasingly more frustrated until I finally exclaimed, "Who's pricing these things? Some retarded faggot!?" To make a long story short, some young emaciated hipster girl with irony-poor blood and no sense of humor, decided to inform me that using "that word" was "offensive". When I gently asked her to which of my two slurs she was referring she indignantly replied, "Both!" I patiently explained to this PC moron that since I was indeed both -- gay AND retarded -- I had every right to say whatever I damn well pleased!  Needless to say, she slunk away like the spineless, carb-phobic lousy-lay she no doubt was!  As they say on "Portlandia" -- PUT A BIRD ON IT!

So, it is with great sadness that I officially announce that the once-amazing treasure hunt known as The St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store has flat-lined and is, at the very least in a coma, but more than likely is, for all intents and purposes, DEAD!  Beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Not even Jerry would eat his cereal out of these butt-ugly bowls!

That is unless you're a big fan of cobalt blue glass that looks like it's right off the set of "Seinfeld," horrific faux Native American/lesbian-adjacent moon & stars crap, and/or hideous poly resin angels that would make even the Pope become a motherfuckin' atheist. Oh, and of course, there are always DOZENS of copies of "The DaVinci Code" (who in their right mind buys those bestsellers? Borrow it from a stupid friend, for chrissakes!) If you're into that kind of garbage, then I have some GREAT news: Vincent is still alive and kicking!

You know what?  FUCK OFF, YOU POLY RESIN PIECE OF SHIT!

13 DELIGHTFUL WORDS!

‎1. Astrological

2. Brooch

3. Davenport

4. Kimono

5. Luncheon

6. Maraschino

7. Opal

8. Ottoman

9. Parfait

10. Rumaki

11.  Savory

12. Tortoise

13. Zaftig

And my overachiever BONUS: Chenille!

YOU MUST WATCH THIS!

It's such a cliche' that it seems almost unnecessary to mention it, but please learn to love what makes you different.  Everyone has a cross to bear in this life, and some are heavier and much more cumbersome than others, but  we must accept and love ourselves -- and focus on what we ARE and what we CAN do.

No, I have not found Jesus and no, I didn't get a job writing cards for Hallmark.  But I did watch this beautiful short film that my sister, Vicki, sent to me.

Please watch it.  Cry your eyes out.  Then be HAPPY...

THE BUTTERFLY CIRCUS

CHECK OUT MY NEW WEBSITE!

Dearest Darlings,

I've been getting quite a few Tweets, Facebook messages and emails lately kindly informing me that my website has been down.  This, unfortunately, was a situation that was entirely out of my control.  Without going into too much ghastly detail, let me simply remind you all of the phrase, "You get what you pay for!"  Needless to say, I shan't be having my website -- or anything else for that matter -- tended to by a "fan!"

The good news is that I have a brand new website, www.MissJackieBeat.com, and it's ready to be enjoyed by all those who appreciate funny song parodies about poop and/or rambling tirades concerning the mind-boggling stupidity of today's youth!

While perusing the site, please feel free to download a song (or two or three!)... or at least have the common decency to put a little something in my virtual tip jar.  As the patron saint of drag, Dolly Parton, says, "It costs a lot of money to look this cheap!"  And rest assured that I will be adding more songs and merchandise, along with lots of fun photos and other features, so please make sure to visit often!

We realize that you have many options these days when it comes to drag entertainment and we greatly appreciate you choosing the very best in the business, Miss Jackie Beat!

My God, how you must have missed me!

WORK IT, GURL!

I am NOT a rich cunt -- I just like to pretend (that I'm rich!)

Okay, let's be honest... I live a life of leisure! I love nothing more than sitting in bed with my dogs, texting my friends, playing word games on my iPhone, Facebooking or blogging while watching my favourite television programs. What can I say? I'm a multi-tasker! (And did you notice that I not only used the British spelling of "favourite," but I also said "television programs?" A less-sophisticated bitch would have simply grunted, "favorite TV shows." Goddamn, I am one piss-elegant cooze!)

I really hope this show gets picked up,
but until then I must continue to be a clown!

Yes, I just wrote on a great pilot presentation called "Love or Hate" for Chelsea Handler's Borderline Amazing Productions starring Ross Mathews and Heather McDonald. Yes, I write my wildly popular column for Frontiers Magazine. Yes, I just did yet another sold out, standing-room-only holiday tour in December. But it just dawned on me that it's suddenly March and I need to get back to work!

Christmas is OVAH, bitch!

So if you would like me to host, perform, DJ or just about anything else that a rodeo clown/whore might do -- PLEASE SEND ME A MESSAGE! I will entertain just about ANY offer -- as long as it's legal. And moral. And glamorous. Which essentially means I will not fuck a dead dog on camera.


But I am willing to travel just about anywhere -- yes, even to the Inland Empire!

Do you think amazing mid-century "ching-chong" lamps like this grow on trees!?
(Actually this one is made of wood so it kinda' did, but you know what I mean...)

Is it unglamorous of me to say that I need work? Well, guess what is even less glamorous? Not being able to live the luxurious lifestyle to which I have grown accustomed! Imagine making one's own lunch instead of going to a different delightful eatery every day with friends... Imagine not seeing the latest theatrical productions... Imagine surviving with (gasp!) basic cable... Oh the mere thought sends a chill right up my spoiled spine! Do you have any idea how much it costs to furnish a house that is so fabulous it has been featured in The LA Times Home Section!? What am I saying, of course you don't.

Dammit, Maria!  I specifically told you not to put THIS newspaper in the
bottom of the bird cage...  Look, I don't know how to say it in Mexican!

This was so much easier when I was only one of a few drag artists, but now it seems like everyone and their father is putting on makeup (well, trying to anyway!) and a wig (unstyled, right out of the bag!) and writing a scat-themed parody of the latest pop hit. And then when you add to that all the losers from "RuPaul's Drag Race" you get all sorts of people splashing (and peeing) in the talent pool. Thank God there's no lifeguard on duty and the weak ones drown rather quickly.

"The time has come for you to lip sync for your life!"
Um, I think I'd rather die, thank you.

So hook a bitch up. Because if I may be brutally honest -- and that is kinda' my claim to fame, you know -- you really only have two choices here. You can either throw me a few Benjamins to warble out one of my aforementioned greatest shits -- or I can break into your car and/or apartment to actually steal your shit.


It's up to you. The ball is in your court. My ball is, of course, in my pantyhose.


Kidding! I have two balls, but no, you cannot see them!


That is, unless the money is really good.

THIS is what I am looking for.  Oh, and cock... But I am
far too classy to run a photo of cock on my blog.  Or am I?

Oh dear!  I guess I'm not...

SWEET MEMORIES!

Little gay me, dreaming of putting something sweet in my mouth.

They say that particular smells are the most effective way to conjure up a long-lost memory.  For instance, the smell of spilled Olympia beer and a Kent cigarette smoldering on the 100% polyester armrest of a plaid La-Z-Boy recliner will always remind me of my tipsy, hacking father.

"It's The Water"  Oh, and the alcohol helps, too!

The decadently feminine Diane Von Furstenberg perfume, Tatiana, mingling with that slap-you-in-the-face breath that can only be achieved thanks to filterless Pall Malls and Folgers Instant Coffee With Flavor Crystals, is like a big aromatic hug from my beautiful mother.  (Please keep in mind that this was back when Tatiana was a classy fragrance -- long before Diane sold the company to some giant conglomerate and purse-sized bottles of the once-precious perfume made their way onto the shelves of The 99 Cent Only Store.  My mom may have had bad breath, but she also had taste, pride and dignity -- and wouldn't be caught dead dabbing anything sold at a discount store on her wrists and/or behind her ears!)

Just add a mod caftan and boxed wine...

The unbeatable combination of Loves Baby Soft and Jiffy-Pop popcorn?  My sister, Vicki.  Dirty underwear and Taco Bell?  My brother, Lance, of course.  These specific smells are each like time machines, shuttling me back to a simpler time, somewhere around the mid-1970's.  A time when Brooke Shields and Jodie Foster could play pre-pubescent child prostitutes and no one batted a Maybelline turquoise-shadowed eye.

Surprisingly, "Pretty Baby" is far less offensive than "Suddenly Susan!"

A time when we thought the cancer one got from using artificial sweeteners was far more acceptable than the few extra pounds that might accumulate around one's midsection as a result of using real sugar.  A time when, speaking of diets and nutrition, an appetite suppressant could be called AYDS (yep, it's pronounced AIDS!) without a drop of dark irony.

A time when we relied on a ring to tell us our mood, we could have a rock as a pet and we often wondered where the beef was.  A time when people like Charo, The Unknown Comic and Lyle Waggoner could be stars.  Google them.  Yes, smells can take us back -- but for me, the ultimate passport to the past is the most exciting of our five sense, Taste.

If your jokes were this bad, you wouldn't show your face either!

Which brings me to a wonderful gift I received last night from my pal, Muffy Bolding.  I like friends who listen and I had recently shared with her a story about my next door neighbor when I was growing up in Scottsdale, Arizona.  Mrs. Gardner was a sweet-faced, gray-haired little old lady who resembled Mrs. Butterworth and smelled like rose water.  As a little gay kid (sadly, with no living grandparents), I used to love visiting her spotless home that featured things like doilies and needlepoint and paper flowers and toilet paper cozies and plastic-covered furniture and "I Love You This Much" figurines -- no doubt bought at the corner drug store at the very last minute by one of her thoughtless, real grandchildren.

I LOVE YOU, GRANDMA -- just not enough to plan ahead!

But my very favorite thing in that cottage-like house was the leaded crystal candy dish, always full of individually-wrapped Brach's Neopolitan coconut candy!  I have such fond memories of those chewy squares -- specifically of slowly and methodically eating each stripe: white, then pink, then brown.  I also used to carefully nibble a tiny section from two Funyons (it's more difficult than it sounds!) and wear them as hoop earrings a la Pam Grier.  Can you say, "future drag queen with an eating disorder?"  But I digress.  Yes, those Brach's candy -- available in bulk and oh-so-easy to steal, er, uh, I mean "sample" at the grocery store -- were beyond delicious.  And they were something my mom would never buy.  See, we ate sandwiches made with Roman Meal bread and spicy mustard, not sweet mushy Wonder Bread with Miracle Whip like Mrs. Gardner.  My mom made rigatoni with homemade bolognese, not SpaghettiO's with sliced franks like Mrs. Gardner.

When I asked my mom to buy me SpaghettiO's she snarled, "You are NOT my son!"

My dad grilled big thick juicy t-bones, medium rare, on our backyard Weber, not pressed and formed frozen Steak-Umms cooked to death in an avocado green Sunbeam electric skillet like Mrs. Gardner.  And as a kid, I loved all that crappy food.  Who wants fresh-squeezed orange juice made from fruit right off the tree in our very own backyard when one can have Tang?  And why eat bacon and eggs when a Carnation instant breakfast or a Pillsbury Space Food Stick is far more convenient and, well, futuristic?

Space junk?

So last might, when I unwrapped one of those coconut beauties and popped it into my middle-aged mouth, I suddenly became a kid again.  Thanks, Muffy!

Yum!

BUTTOX!

BE HONEST, DOES YOUR ASS GIVE AWAY YOUR AGE?

BEFORE

Have you somehow managed to keep your face looking relatively young, but below the waist and from behind you look older-than-dirt?  What’s the point of wearing hip ‘n’ trendy fashions, sleeping with people 20 years your junior and listening to music by artists young enough to be your grandchildren if you’re going to pack a sagging, wrinkled senior citizen’s butt into those skintight, low-rise jeans?

IT’S TIME FOR BUTTOX.

Buttox is a powerful poison that’s injected right into your caboose to make it look 5, 10, even 15 years younger!  Imagine once again having a firm, wrinkle-free bottom.  Still not convinced?  Just listen to what these satisfied Buttox users have to say…

“I was going on a vacation to Europe and didn’t want to avoid all the fabulous bottomless beaches.  Thanks to Buttox, I didn’t have to!”

 - Beverly Anderson-Wilkes, New York NY

“I can now fit into my old army uniform thanks to Buttox!  Oh, and my keester is so tight you can bounce a quarter off it!  Buttox, I salute you!”

 - Retired Gen. Ralph Garfield, Sun Valley ID

“As a stripper, my ass is my fortune and Buttox has made it possible for me to once again make a very good living by exposing my behind.  Come Monday, I’m quitting my boring job at the bookmobile and going back to Cheetah’s to shake my 78 year-old ass!”

 - Gwendolyn Fischer, Los Angeles CA

“I’m a big fag and in my world, ass is just about everything!  Before Buttox, if I wanted some hot man-on-man action I had to hire one of those cross-eyed, crack-addicted bisexual street hustlers wearing hideously outdated ’80s fashions.  Now, thanks to your miracle product, this horny 36 year-old troll can trick with just about anyone — if the bar is dimly lit and my prey is real drunk.  Thanks Buttox!”

 - Bruce LaSalle, Key West FL

"You can have a rib removed and bathe in the blood of virgins, but all young guys care about is your ass.  This is some good shit!"

- Cher, Beverly Hills CA

It worked for them and it can work for you!  Don’t wait to hit rock bottom -- literally.  Ask your doctor about Buttox today and turn your delapidated derrierre back into your formerly taut ‘n’ toned “mountain of youth.”

AFTER

BUTTOX. IT’S BOTOX FOR YOUR BOOTIE.

WARNING: Buttox (formerly known as Ass-Thrax) may cause the following side effects: Headache, stomach ulcers, numbness, swelling, shooting pains, dull aches, paralysis, constipation, anal leakage, explosive diarrhea, black oily stool, flatulence that smells like dead rotting flesh, excessive sweating under the arms and between the legs, impotence, low sex drive, decreased sperm count, facial spasms, Tourette’s Syndrome, the growth of thick coarse ape-like hair in the ears and nose, hallucinations, heart palpitations and a genuine interest in Scientology.