Clash of the Hilton
Today I ran into Perez Hilton at The Coffee Bean, literally, as he was jammed in the door. I wanted to help, but I figured it would give me more time to get out of the country with David Beckham before he "outs" him too. I smiled at him, and laughed - then wrote this. I'm still giggly.
The last time I saw Perez it was Mardi Gras '82 and we met at a Frontiers Magazine Party. He was a rent-a-twink, and I wouldn't pay 50 cents. He even tried to talk me down to a quarter, but I told I'd get all the diseases he had in the alley for free. So, we chit- chatted about "hooking" and I told him that based on the amount of time he was putting in the profit margin just wasn't worth it. My advice: Blogs. He scoffed, and I scoffed back. Then we looked up the word "scoff", and found that we meant "sneer". I told him "Fine. Here's a bit of advice then. Buy stock in Enron."
The next time I saw him was the bathroom at the WeHo Target being paid by a tranny. I pretended he was straight just to twist the knife a little deeper, and asked, "Who's your wife?" He pretended I wasn't there even though I asked him through my bullhorn. So, I let that one go.
Another time, I was doing a local access show as Perez was just starting his blogging "career". We were trapped in a thin hallway, and we knew there was no way I was getting through without a crobar and a vat of vasoline. So, I started some small talk:
- Well, Perez, here we are again. Looks like the camera adds ten pounds.
- I hate myself, he replied, I hate my body, my looks, the sad way I make living ruining successful people's lives.
- Boo, I whispered.
- Are you mocking me, Beckett? He huffed.
- No, that's my name Perez. Boo.
(I whispered it because that's code to my assistant, Shoshanna, reminding me to put a restraining order placed against him.)
"Well, I took your advice Beckett," he drooled, "I'm a big blogger now. I'm gonna make millions and buy the boots out from under you!"
"Perez, darling, the boots are priceless. They were a gift from the Onassis family. This is the fur of Jackie's yak, and if you want to make your legacy as a glutton, and cancer on culture, my friend, be my guest. But they'll find a cure for you, and I'm sure you'll find it on Craig's List under M4M Antelope Valley."
Perez, aka Mario Lavandiera, fell silent. He knew he was out of his league. "Well, I gotta get to jet, Beckett!" Perez said sinking into his signature slouch. "Watch yourself, and I'll get you Beckett Boo, esq. I'm powerful." He tried to step forward to no avail.
"Well, looks like I'll have to go the other way." I responded blithely. Perez insisted on sliding past, and I had already filled my "rude-meter" for the day, so I allowed passage. Our bellies barely touched. For once, I found remorse from him. It may have been the Panda Express he seemed to be digesting. I felt a heart. I mean a hard-on. I knew what it was. I saw it on the 'Manhunter' website years ago. Politely I insisted that my wife, Pegasus, would be offended. So, it was a no-go. I'm not marrried, but I had just seen "Clash of the Titans" that day, and a young Harry Hamlin was on my mind.
So, I had Shoshanna prepare me a bath - with Lavender, Ajax and Brillo Pads. I couldn't get the Perez Hilton moisture out of my pores. Shoshanna is good with a colonic, but no good at facials. So, I had my body rubbed down by Sven and Gorvac who do that radiation treatment thing Meryl Streep gets in "Silkwood."
The moral of the story is: Don't use your Arts Degree to sell your friends and fellow Artists short by "outing them" and damaging the mystique of the characters and stories they are telling. If you do you'll make a lot of money, but you'll always have rabbit teeth.
Sidenote: Watermelon is a very vaginal object. Tasty, but, remind me to tell Shoshanna never to buy watermelon again.
Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!