The Last Supper in the Mental Asylum

This shit is my new SB banner when I get the time [and don't you motherfuckers be stealing it]. SB totally identifies with mental asylum patients for somewhat obvious reasons.

Actually, my Great Step-Grandma, Bertha, was in an asylum for awhile. I'm not sure what my good-looking, blue-eyed Great Grandpa saw in her. That ho was no catch. She was a big load of trouble, and she wasn't even good-looking. She had frizzy hair, for chrissakes! Bitch couldn't cook either. She didn't have the mental capacity to follow even a simple damn recipe. She probably couldn't even fix a damn hot dog and boxed macaroni-and-cheez. Maybe her ass was hot in bed, though. Actually, strike that. I don't want to even think about that shit because it's pretty fucking gross.

Anyhoo, I don't know where Great Grandpa and Bertha met, but it was sort of unfortunate for the ENTIRE family, other than the fact that Grandpa wasn't as lonely.

One time my Grandma Peg loaded up Great Grandpa and Bertha's freezer with meat, but thought maybe she forgot to plug the freezer in (since it had been empty before), so she phoned Grandpa up, and Bertha's crazy ass answered. Grandma Peg instructed Bertha to go out to the damn garage and plug the cord to the freezer in, so the meat wouldn't spoil. Well, I guess the damn freezer actually was plugged in, so mental Bertha got confused and unplugged the fucker. All the meat went bad and stunk to high heaven. That ho couldn't even be trusted with the simplest task.

Also, another time Grandma Peg went over to Great Grandpa's house, and she was brushing Bertha's hair for her with an old-fashioned bristled brush, and Grandma stepped away for a hot minute to answer the door, and when she came back, Bertha's ass had eaten all the bristles off the brush. When Bertha's ass smiled at Grandma, the bristles were hanging out from between her damn teeth, if you can believe that shit.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Bertha was my Step Great Grandma and NOT MY GENETIC RELATIVE!

A Salute to Chicken Salad

Currently my favorite food. I eat the damn stuff daily, BUT ONLY ON WONDER BREAD! SB does not like the healthy whole wheat crap. Chicken salad on white Wonder Bread. Luscious, as Grandma Peg would say. Luscious!

Grandma and Her Squandered Love for Liberace

I was reading the Andy Warhol diaries this morning, and in them, Andy told a story about going to a Liberace concert, and it got me to thinking about my Grandma Peg. This isn't quite the associative stretch it appears to be. I was looking for a frame for a picture, and after Grandma passed on, I remembered I had one of her old frames, so I went down to the basement and got it. Underneath the old family picture that was in it, I found a photo she had clipped of Liberace.

Then I remembered the conversation we once had about Lee. Grandma said, "I wouldn't kick Liberace out of bed." I retorted like the big smart ass I was/am, "Well, Lee wouldn't be in your bed in the first place because he's a flaming homo."

Well, the scorn--let me tell you--Grandma simply would NOT accept that Lee could possibly be gay. SHE WOULDN'T EVEN ENTERTAIN THAT RIDICULOUS IDEA--even when I pointed out the National Enquirer tell-all stories about Lee and the big beefy blond chauffer he bedded. Even when I pointed out Lee's flamboyant dressing habits: the flashy diamond rings, the sequins, the laquered bouffant hairdo. I'm not saying flamboyant dressing makes you definitively gay people so don't even start. I'm just saying it could possibly be an indicator is all.




Uhhh, no, he's not gay. What would ever give my dumb ass that idea?

To her dying day, Grandma could not, would not, accept Liberace's gayness. It was one of the few disagreements we ever had. Besides, since I share a similar, hopeless love of Rufus Wainwright (who is also a flamboyant dresser), who am I to throw a stone?

I like to imagine Grandma up there in heaven, in bed with a bejeweled, hetero Lee. They're just lying there smiling--they're not doing anything--that would be gross as hell. So, get your damn minds out of the gutter, people (that was another Grandma Pegism--except she didn't say damn because she was against cussing)! Anyhoo, I hope Grandma's heaven is nice.

When I go, all I ask for is a 24-hour open bar and a renewable liver. My dreams are simple.