The Blood Spitting DRAGon Queen, The Mystery of The Burning Stroller and The Pathway of Sleeping Asian Heads

I never fight with my step-dad Boyd, he's always been super cool and funny, basically the best step-dad a person could ask for which made it really strange that he was totally jerkin me around telling me that I had to pay for the new stairway in the basement. I was at first willing to pay for a little but then when he started acting like it was my obligation I kinda got pissed. All the yelling was no fun, even though he's quite a bit older now and I am no longer a scrawny kid, it still seems like he could kick my ass if he had too.

Taking a walk through the concourse I found myself at the center of attention because I had wandered into the middle of some musical production that was going on in one of the banquet rooms. I spotted a flaming red headed drag queen that I thought was this friendly gay kid named Patrik from the local SF hipster scene but then I realized it wasn't him and thinking back, it very well may have been Eddie Izzard. Anyway, as he approached me I could see his costume was designed to look like he was spitting up blood all over on his golden sequined dress. It was a pretty good costume obviously designed to capitalize on the fear of AIDS. He was singing some lyrics about a blood spitting dragon which I thought was a pretty obvious but effective lyric for a rabid drag queen with AIDS. His song was sung to the familiar tune of "My Way" made famous by Elvis. As I passed him and it was apparent that the spotlight was on the two of us and I had become the audience participation audience member. One of his lyrics required a response from me and looking down into the lapel microphone attached to my shirt, I felt like I knew exactly the response his performance needed. I said something super poetic to the effect that blood spitting or not, he was a gorgeous MAN. My emphasis on MAN was apparently the surprise the audience was wanting because it got a very good response. The drag queen feigned some embarrassment and I quickly made my awesome exit as the drag queen stretched out his long arms as if to say "no don't go". It was all super gay and dramatic and cheesy, basically just what the queens seem to enjoy. Thinking back I wished I had more time to prepare for my one liner.

As I made my way out of the theater I noticed dozens of scantily clad, extremely gorgeous women hiding in the wings awaiting their cue. They all looked at me as if I had just completely stolen the show, like I was some kind of instant celebrity. Chicks love a man who can hang with drag queens without getting weird or uncomfortable and while maintaining a completely masculine comportment. Most men don't know this which is fine by me. It's never a bad thing to be the only available straight and masculine man in a room full of gays and hot straight women.

I had a brief conversation with some preachy fuck who was giving shit to his wife and kids about eating healthy. He was a fat ass and had bad skin. his family all looked completely fine and normal so his speech was retarded and I picked it apart to show just what an ass he was being.

Later there was an accident involving a badly burned stroller and I could see that there was a big opportunity for someone to fuck with the evidence so I took it upon myself to watch over it and not compromise the integrity. It occurred to me that the badly burned and twisted curved ends of a baby's stroller was a very disturbing image and that it might serve the interests of the relatives of the victim of this accident to cover them up or something. I used a dishtowel to obscure it from view. I turned my head for a minute and when I turned back someone had put brand new bicycle grips on the stroller's handlebars. Foul play was afoot and the person I suspected was the cigar smoking African cab driver with the red beret I had the previous evening. He was pretty shifty, when I asked what kind of tobacco he was smoking he held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. I'm no expert but I know the difference between cigar, pipe and cigarette smoke. Plus he was standing there with a guilty look on his face. I lifted up the stroller and took it into the other room where he couldn't fuck with it anymore.

Somebody gave me some famous woman's used purse on the condition that I didn't use it as it was intended to be used. The suede was very very soft but also gave off the appearance of a finely beaded or sequined surface. I tore off long strips of the soft covering and ate them and it was surprisingly tasty and had the texture of a fresh stick of Wrigley's chewing gum. Surely eating the purse was not it's intended use. I became so focused on the careful deconstruction that I nearly stepped on at least a dozen sleeping Asian's heads that were poking out of the make shift mattress tents in the impromptu village in the park. It just seems like a bad Idea to sleep with your head poked out from under the mattresses or furniture out onto the narrow pathways between the mattress tents.

When I finally arrived at breakfast I poured myself and the little black girl a couple of bowls of what looked to be delicious granola. The milk was thin and gray. Someone came by to tell me that the granola was all gone but I knew they were mistaken because I had just barely poured two bowls and I was halfway finished with mine. But then I looked down and realized he was right and what I was really eating was just ordinary uncooked hard white rice. Turns out I hadn't even poured it into the bowl, I had actually dumped a few measley grains into the puddle of thin gray milk on a dirty cookie sheet. The little black girl was not impressed. I need to pay more attention.

Later I was able to watch the replays by scratching the little squirrel's cheek for fast motion and scratching his little wet nose for slow motion. The Replay Squirrel, what a great idea.