Bonjour, my star babies, I sensed through the ethereal veil that my presence was desperately needed (my call waiting beeped). Yes, you have problems. Your cheekbones are practically nonexistent. Your hair is but a sad opossum sitting on your head. You would have no idea how to apply eyebrow crystals if I left you alone in a Swarovski-studded room full of tweezers and glue and absinthe. Your garments are not made of anything endangered, although your ermine socks are nice on cold mornings, I allow.
I know, it’s all bloody tragic. But take it like a man, tee hee, if you dare! We do not traffic in complaints here. We take action. Lots and lots and lots of action. I don’t want to see you snuffling around, plying Steve Strange with questions in a transparent bid for attention. That’s a cheap thrill, a tiny pellet of cocaine wiggling down the chute because you yanked the lever, then, didn’t you? Did you get a shock, or does wire mother (Steeeeeee-eeeeve) love you today?
You forget that life is a glorious mystery, you sodding twits! Black, white, man, woman, animal, vegetable? Why does it matter? If I can get up and have at the day, so can you! Â I have just put out a new single! No lying about all soppy, drowning in a tub of your own tears, waiting for attention to come to you. You shan’t be rescued by a strapping merman. Or even a fireman for that matter. You will have to drive yourself to the ER after your own suicide attempt, and the trauma team will sigh and avert their gaze because your eye makeup is smeared and your patch is flipped round.
So here is the Answer, babies: bootstraps! Preferably from boots with 2-cubit platforms. Come on, they are so shiny and sleek, and they make you look at least a stone lighter. If you wish, you could pull yourself up by someone else’s bootstraps, but you don’t know anyone fabulous enough, to be honest. And that person might consider it sexual harassment, which is sometimes but not always undesirable. You can do this, babies. Tug! Tug!
But I have been advised to coat my legs in Vaseline!
Boots go over legs, dolt! And console yourself that you will be supple as a dolphin’s bottom under those boots.
Funny you should mention dolphin’s bottoms! Licketysplit was diagnosed with Dolphin Bottom eons ago. Her curtain has no ruffle, if you catch my drift.