I sat next to the Dali Lama at the big commie military wankfest in the field behind the White-house. George Bush refused to be seen or photographed with "THEE Dolly LAME-O", as he put it, so he and all his buddies hung out over by the garage pointing and laughing at all the other countries military get ups. The Dali Lama was dressed in an all red number looking like a mix between a Canadian Royal Mountie mixed with a Christmas Tree with loads of medals and tassels which wasn't too surprising to me because I always thought the orange diaper vibe was just pandering to the movie star hippie set. I guess the plain crappy folding chair went along with that whole deal. Way to go Mr. Humility, I'm totally buying it now.
George Bush kept doing devil horns rock and roll hand whenever the marching troops did some choreography. No surprise there.
I went scouting for a location that would look like my living room only as big as a warehouse to do a photo shoot. I wore my naked rubber Three Question Marks costume with a working television on my head as a mask because I'm an entertaining driver. I also mimed all the crazy keyboard solos from the Moog cookbook compilation on the ipod. I was a big hit as usual.
Along the way we all stopped off at a few thrift stores. I bought a huge bronze wall sculpture of James Earl Jones as Louis Armstrong posing with Elvis. I can't remember what movie it's from but I'll need a crane to get it into my house. I also nearly chopped of my finger on a makeshift fan someone had fashioned out of an old boat propeller attached to a motor with nothing more than a few oversized paper clamps. Whatever numbdick set that whole thing up was def not thinking safety first.
When we finally found a place that could pass as a gigantic version of my living room we brought in a dozen VW bugs and parked them amongst the furniture because, duh, it looked cool.
Once all the dancers arrived they distracted me by asking me to think of a name for their all female dance review. Usually I'm pretty good at this type of thing but I admit I was a little stumped because I was convinced that it should just be a man's name, you know like Albert or Henry or Doug but then when I'd visualize them being announced on TV, "Ladies and gentlemen please welcome DOUG!", it left me feeling too hipstery so instead I played with the melted candle wax, puffing it up, rolling it out, making it into all kinds of big huge blobby pornographic shapes.
"You should name your group an indescribable blobby shape with a few sharp corners instead of a word, you know, like how Prince changed his name to a symbol, this way a person would have to own the sharpish blobby thing and hold it up in the air if they wanted to talk about you. You'd sell a million blobby sharp deals."
Later on Christopher Reeves came by the set, he showed me his mechanical jaw. Each tooth was individually sculpted and on it's own lever like a metal piano or typewriter. He opened the drawer in his wheelchair and showed me all the custom souvenir teeth sculpted from ivory he'd been given as gifts from stars such as Larry King and Bernadette Peters. My Favorite tooth was probably the one sculpted in the exact miniature likeness of Tweety Bird. I'm sold on the idea that false teeth should be little sculptures and not just teeth. Way to go Superman.
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