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Speaking From the Diaphragm

The Vaginal Davis Blog

. . .From the Counsel of Inter-Continental Balistic Principalities

Friday, December 08, 2006

Be careful who you flirt with. James Murdock the dorkiest of Rupert Murdockís sons is now stalking me. He is bonafide cookoo for cocoa tranny girl cocke. I am a notorious Anglophile, and I usually canít resist the peaches and cream complexion of empire boys, but I find Jimmy-Z a tad creepy, and whenever Iíve been around him my red flags fly at full mast. Perhaps I should accept his overtures, a lady canít have too many wealthy admirers.
Second thought, Iíd make a lousy kept woman. Men of power and priveledge just arenít that interesting to me. They are such dullards.
On a joyeous note, my black sister niecyela, the gorgeous Lisa Teasley, famous young novelist, whose latest tome Heat Signature is garnering lots of literary buzz, treated me to a delightful luncheon at the legendary eatery Phillipeís. Lisa also wrote a BBC TV film set in a high school that will air in the states next year, and just completed a book tour of the country. Lady T regaled me with hilarious tales of her adventures in the deep south. At Phillipes we both had the scrumpteous split pea soup and the house chablis, and was asked by A-list movie star Leonardo DiCaprio who shared our table, accompanied by bodyguards, if we had tried the famed pickled eggs in beet juice. Leo was looking very ruggedly handsome, and I didnít notice him until he spoke to us, I was so engaged in animated conversation with Lisa. Something tells me he wasnít use to going someplace where there were no paparazzi waiting for him, and at 2:30 it was past the lunch rush, so the place was pretty empty, just the way I like it. No one else in the working class restaurant recognized him, and if youíre a major star, not being recognized and fussed over can be pretty daunting to a super huge id. Lisa didnít recognize him, and I never mentioned to her who he was after our exchange, which was very pleasant. Even his bodyguards looked a little concerned, like how could we not know who had deem speak to us. The last time I saw Mr. DiCaprio was back in 1994 when he played with his band, the name of which I canít remember at my sunday afternoon punk rock beer bust Club Sucker, and before that in the early 1990ís he use to hang out at the Amok Bookstore in Los Feliz Village. He lived on Ambrose Street with his mother, right next door to writer Dennis Cooper, who he had a brief homoliterary fling with after Dennisís former lover Mark Ewert flew the chickenhawk coop. I lived down from them on Finley and Hillhurst next to the restaurant Farfella. See what you learn from Vaginal Davis, all the darkest secrets of Smallywood.

.: posted by Vaginal Davis 8:27 AM

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Was interviewed by a well known international fashion magazine, and i was shocked when the writer wanted gossip about the owners of the Parlour Club where i use to do my weekly party Bricktops. Not wanting to go into all the sordid details of the severance of our working relationship i simply related to them this:
when i am finished with a person it is forever. I do not think this is necessarily a good way to be. But i endow the people i like with certain beauties and excitement, and when they make me sore all the inspiration dies out of the friendship.

.: posted by Vaginal Davis 3:10 PM