Blame It on Bianca Del Rio_The Expert on Nothing With an Opinion on Everything

by Bianca Del Rio

  Javier Garcia

  Dear Javier,

  There’s nothing to say, but here is something to do. Next time one of these bitches lies to you, pick up your bus tray full of dirty dishes and crack them over the head.

  Much love to you, too!

  P.S. FYI, the only rude employee at my place of work is me.

  * * *

  BIANCA’S TIPS: HOW TO DRIVE COWORKERS AWAY

  Eat smelly Indian food at your desk.

  Read the Koran and look shifty.

  Change your name to Mohammad El Achbar Mohammad.

  Ask your office mates about flying lessons incessantly.

  Leave personal salves and creams all over your desk.

  Have a Photoshopped picture of you and Hitler on display.

  Put an “I ♥ Kim Jong-un” bumper sticker on your car.

  Don’t brush your teeth.

  Gargle with semen.

  Make sure your clothes reek of cigarette smoke.

  Make sure your clothes reek of cigar smoke.

  Make sure your clothes reek of cancer.

  Shit yourself.

  Shit yourself loudly.

  Shit yourself after a cabbage lunch.

  Who am I kidding, shitting yourself always works.

  Hi Bianca!

  First, I would like to say thank you for your charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent. You are my favorite queen and a daily inspiration.

  My question is about a co-worker, who I really hate. I have to work by his side, so I have been polite to him since day one, but he misunderstood me and started to think that we are friends. How can I explain to him that we are only co-workers and I don’t want to be his friend?

  Thank you,

  Best regards,

  Michelle

  P.S. I am from Brazil, please send us a kiss!

  Dear Michelle,

  Thank you for your kind words. Allow me to return the compliment. Thank YOU (and all of Brazil) for the waxings. If not for you and your countrymen, do you know how much hair I’d have in my mouth? Muah!

  There’s a reason I work alone and am not part of some double act, like Bianca & Marie, or the Captain and Bianca, or Bianca-N-Pepa.

  Your situation is easy to fix. Just come in to work a few times with open sores on your hands or face. Friendly Frank won’t want to pal around with you ever again! (How you get those sores is your business, but, girl, I have puh-lenty of suggestions.)

  If this outfit were any blacker, Kim Kardashian would fuck it.

  © Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza

  I’ve seen some very beautiful drag queens.

  BEBE NEUWIRTH

  Thank you. And I hope your glaucoma clears up soon.

  BIANCA DEL RIO

  I received A LOT of questions about the world of drag. Some people wanted to know about my experiences working as a drag queen; many others were interested in starting a career in drag. A LOT of the questions were similar—and by similar, I mean THE SAME! BORING! Thank God I’m not a proctologist! How many questions about poop or wearing brown can one woman answer?

  I love the high neck. I didn’t have to wax my tits.

  © Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza

  * * *

  Dear Bianca,

  I’m transitioning out of the Fashion Industry and becoming a Psychotherapist. I’m thinking about combining my two worlds by offering a new form of “Drag Therapy” in which my clients would dress up as different “personas” that would allow them to express various aspects of their personality that they might not know very well. As a Professional Drag Queen, do you think this would be a viable form of therapy?

  Dario M

  Dear Dario,

  I have questions about your question. But before I start, this is 2018, not 1958; when you use the word transitioning, it means you’re changing genders, not jobs. Leaving one career for another is not the same as cutting off your dick.

  What if your patient is like Sybil and has twenty-three different personalities? Have you considered how extensive their wardrobes would have to be? All twenty-three personalities may not be the same gender, and will certainly not be the same size. What if one of them is a pasty white anorexic and another is a black big’un, like Precious? Maybe personality number five is a winter, but numbers seven to seventeen are summers, now what? The point I’m making here is that your patients will have to spend so much on outfits they won’t have enough money to pay for therapy.

  Have you thought about people other than your prospective patients; you know, everyday citizens like me and Jamie? WE have to look at your patients. Imagine the trauma WE’LL have to deal with if Two-Ton Tessie comes lumbering down the street in a halter and Daisy Dukes. That image will be seared in our minds forever. It’s worse than catching your parents fucking.

  You don’t say why you are leaving the fashion industry. Is it your choice? Is it because you got tired of watching gay men help bulimic supermodels clean up their vomit? Do you suffer from chronic exhaustion trying to figure out what the fuck Karl Lagerfeld is saying? Or was it the industry’s choice? Do you just really suck at your job?

  What makes you think you’d be a good therapist? I make no pretensions that I’m qualified to give advice. I’m just a whore for money, so when the book publisher called . . .

  Anyway, it sounds to me like you may need therapy yourself. Let’s hope one of your personas isn’t suicidal.

  Have a happy day!

  Xoxoxo

  * * *

  Hey, Bianca,

  My name is Eric and I am 13 years old and I live in Greenville, South Carolina. You inspire me like Jiggly, Valentina, Alyssa and Willam and I wanted to ask your opinion on me doing drag. I’ve wanted to try drag for a while and I also wanted to know if you would be my drag mother. (I hope you say yes!) My mother is okay with it.

  Thank You! ♥

  Dear Eric,

  Don’t do drag—it’s a trap! I’m kidding. Baby drag! I LOVE IT! I am so proud of you (not to mention your mother) for knowing who you are and what you are at such a young age. Muah! #proudproudproud. But I’m not old enough to be your drag mother, ya little cunt.

  * * *

  Dear Bianca,

  I’ve been doing drag for fun for a while, but I’d like to do it for a living. I’m getting good at it, and think I have a shot. Is it possible to make a good living doing drag?

  Any suggestions would be great. Thx

  Dee Licious

  Austin, Texas

  Dear Dee,

  LOVE your drag name. You’re off to a good start. How do you define good living? If you mean only having to share a bathroom with four other people who live on your floor, then yes you can. If you mean having a phone (and calling plan) in your own name, then you have to be different from the other drag queens; you have to have a hook. For example, I’m a stand-up comic; Coco Peru is theatrical; Lady Bunny is fat. RuPaul was the first DQ to cross into the mainstream. Divine ate shit. So find your hook. Maybe you could cut off a limb and be the “hopping” drag queen. Or how about tucking your dick OUTSIDE your dress, and be the Flashing Queen?

  Let me know what you decide. Let me know how I can “help.” But as a drag queen, I totally don’t mean that. Bye, bitch. See ya at happy hour.

  Love you!

  * * *

  Hey Bianca,

  I’m a new queen and as a boy I have quite small lips. I know you aren’t the queen of natural lips, but how do you overdraw them without them looking obviously fake?

  Much love,

  Colin

  Sent from my iPhone

  Colin,

  I love that you wrote from your iPhone. This tells me that you’re either a busy go-getter with no time to sit at a computer, or you’re homeless, and you sucked a cock for a cheap burner phone. Regardless, what matters is that your first thought was to write to me for advice. I’m honored.

  But your question is stupid. I have no advice for you. By the way, my lips are real. Ask your father.

  * * *


  Dear Bianca,

  I’m a drag queen (Becky D’Vich) and I wonder if you get nervous before getting onstage? If so, how do you cope to have successful shows?

  Thanks,

  Becky

  Dear Becky,

  Of course I get nervous before I go onstage; EVERY artist does. (And I say “artist” instead of “performer,” because I’m a pretentious douche.) We all have different coping mechanisms to work through our nerves. Before going onstage Al Pacino paces back and forth for hours. Barbra Streisand throws boiling hot tea on the lighting director. And Meryl Streep masturbates to Holocaust pictures from Auschwitz. I have much easier ways to cope: I do it with yoga and meditation. And by “yoga and meditation,” I mean “booze and pills.” Try that. (FYI, I don’t share.)

  * * *

  Dear Bianca,

  I have cystic fibrosis and watching your “Bianca Hates You” series in the hospital caused me to laugh/cough so hard the nurses thought I was having a medical emergency. Can you recommend any drag queens that are medically safe for me to watch?

  Tiffany

  Cleveland, Ohio

  Dear Tiffany,

  Pandora Boxx. You won’t laugh at all.

  * * *

  Bianca,

  How do you hide your penis?

  Curious George

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Dear George,

  The same way Beyoncé straightens her hair—it’s a process. I tie a string to the tip of my dick, stick it up the crack in my ass, drag it up behind my neck, and tuck it safely under my wig. On one occasion my balls popped out, and I was complimented on my million-dollar earrings.

  #RossDressForLess

  Chapter 8

  Hit the Road, Bitch!

  I think families should vacation together, and cruising is a wonderful option.

  MARCIA GAY HARDEN

  Cruising is a wonderful option. Sometimes I even do it at sea.

  BIANCA DEL RIO

  I need to work on my oral skills. I’ve only gotten as far as Fresno.

  © Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza

  The only thing worse than a drunk queen on vacation is a drunk queen on a plane going on vacation. I’ve been seen both. Read this chapter and you’ll never leave your house again. Except, of course, to buy the sequel to this book.

  Dear Bianca:

  My wife and I (and our two kids) have been invited to our friends’ destination wedding. We live in Ohio. The destination is Tahiti, which is close to someone else’s budget, assuming that someone is Bill Gates or Warren Buffett. It would cost us almost fifteen thousand dollars to attend the wedding. Even if I could afford it, I wouldn’t go—it seems awfully rude to ask people to spend that amount of money to attend the wedding. We’re very close to this couple; what’s the best way to handle this?

  Don

  Shaker Heights, Ohio

  Dear Don,

  Best way to handle it? How about “Tahiti? Are you crazy? We can barely afford Trenton, let alone the tropics. We’ll send a blender—why don’t you stick your coconuts in it, you nasty, racist white fucks”? #whitepeopleproblem

  While it’s impossible for us to know our friends and neighbors’ exact financial status (although if the repo man is sleeping on their porch, or Dad is pimping out his daughters to Shriners, you know it’s not good), most people wouldn’t put their friends in a position of financial unease. Let’s give your friends the benefit of the doubt: I don’t really think they expect you to attend, they probably know you can’t afford it (Shaker Heights is lovely, but it ain’t Bel-Air) but wanted to invite you, lest your feelings be hurt. If this is the case, then send your regrets along with a nice, affordable gift—maybe a book on manners or the name of a good divorce lawyer. (Don’t give me that “Oh, Bianca, how the fuck could you say that?” look. Fifty percent of marriages in the United States end in divorce. And not nearly enough end up in a tragic, yet not unexpected, homicide/suicide situation.)

  If we don’t give them the benefit of the doubt—and they’re just spoiled, unaware a-holes—then revert back to my original advice: “Tahiti? Are you crazy? We can barely afford Trenton, let alone the tropics. We’ll send a blender—why don’t you stick your coconuts in it?” #whitepeopleproblemwhyyoutakingupspaceinmybook?

  * * *

  Dear Bianca:

  My boyfriend and I just broke up. We own a time share together in Cabo. We don’t want to sell it, but we don’t want to be there at the same time, either. Advice?

  Neil

  Los Angeles, California

  Dear Neil,

  You really can’t figure this out? The answer is so simple. Send your ex on a “fact-finding mission” to the Sinaloa Cartel. Adiós, muchacho!

  Muah!

  Xoxo

  P.S. Watch Forensic Files for some pointers. Good luck!

  Fuck Julie Andrews. These hills ain’t alive out here. They’re just hot!

  © Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza

  Fuck the beach. I got a nice tan without getting sand in my ass. It’s a win-win! This is the second-best vacation ever! The first was the week I spent in the back of Ricky Martin’s throat.

  © Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza

  TRAVEL PET PEEVES

  WAITING FOR LUGGAGE AT THE AIRPORT. Because I’m a globe-hopping celebrity with fans all over the world, I spend more time in the air than Kim Kardashian’s legs. One of the things that drives me crazy is waiting for luggage at the airport. It shouldn’t take me longer to get my luggage at LAX than it did for me to fly there from New York. It’s not like they didn’t know (a) we were coming, and (b) we’d have luggage on board. Yet it always takes an hour for the bags to start coming down the chute (which, FYI, is also a euphemism for getting fucked by George Takei). WHY?

  PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T FIGURED OUT HOW TO GO THROUGH SECURITY EFFICIENTLY. 9/11 was over a decade ago, as was that jackass shoe bomber. Laptops out, shoes off, pockets empty. Those things are simpler than George W. Bush, yet half the people on the security lines seem puzzled. Figure it the fuck out.

  BIG, FAT PEOPLE SITTING NEXT TO ME. If you need to ask for a seat-belt extender, you need to get up, get off, and ask for a bigger plane. And don’t ask for a Coke Zero. You’re fooling no one.

  PEOPLE WHO TRAVEL WITH FAGGY LITTLE DOGS AS “COMPANION ANIMALS.” If you’re so emotionally fragile you can’t travel without your teacup poodle, you need to drink a teacup full of oxy and stay home. I own a horse (not Sarah Jessica Parker, an actual horse), but do you want me to bring Seabiscuit on board as my “companion animal”? Didn’t think so.

  PEOPLE WHO THINK THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS ARE WAITERS AND WAITRESSES. They’re not. They have far more important things to do than bring you vodka. Like jerk me off in the bathroom after I’ve extinguished the cigarette I shouldn’t have been smoking.

  SITTING NEXT TO A RETARD. I know, I know: “Bianca, you’re not supposed to say ‘retard,’ it’s wrong.” And it is wrong, but not because it’s politically incorrect; but because it’s comedically broad, and comedy is specific. Yet it’s a much funnier word than most clinical specifics. For starters, most retards are happy. All the time. Ever see a Down syndrome kid in a bad mood? No. Never. The Downsies are always happy, happy, happy! It’s exhausting. For me. Because it means I have to be nice for hours on end. How would it look if I acted cunty to a retard? Billy has the IQ of a cantaloupe and wears round shoes that lace up the sides, while I’m multilingual (I can swallow in five languages) and wearing spiked Jimmy Choos, yet I’m giving HIM shit? Even Cosby’s lawyer couldn’t fix that kind of a PR problem. Moral of the story: You don’t really have to be nice; they’ll smile anyway.

  PEOPLE WHO TAKE UP PART OF MY ARMREST. Girl, I do not have the patience for a seat hog. Which is why I carry a staple gun in my purse. I’ll give you two chances to move over, and that’s it! You want the armrest so badly, you can have it. Permanently. Ch-chink, cl-ink. Now your flabby arm is stapled to the seat. Enjoy the peanuts, fuckface.

  PEOPLE WHO TAKE FOREVE
R GETTING THEIR SHIT OUT OF THE OVERHEAD BIN AFTER WE LAND. Drives me nuts; we’ve been parked at the gate for twenty minutes and some fat trailer-park chick is still trying to pull her shopping bags down. Hurry up, honey! Swap meet closes at ten.

  PEOPLE WHO USE THE BATHROOM ON THE PLANE without first warning everyone that they’re members of the Power-Shit-of-the-Month Club and today is Cabbage Wednesday. On days when I fly, I have Imodium for breakfast, a butt plug for lunch (and by butt plug I mean an entire urinal cake), and I douche with Glade. Why? Because I’m considerate, that’s why. And because I’m a fucking lady. Take note, bitches. #Pureclass

  * * *

  Dear Bianca,

  I travel a lot for work (I’m a computer programmer) and I have the whole “airport thing” down to a science. So it drives me nuts when people aren’t prepared. They can’t find their passports, or they don’t know the confirmation number, or they speak no known language and can’t tell the counter person what they need. I’ve nearly missed three flights this month for reasons like this. What to do?

  John

  Denver, Colorado

  Dear John Denver,

  For starters, don’t take a solo ride in a glider in the mountains. Oh, wait, you’re John FROM Denver, not John Denver. My bad; color me embarrassed.

  The quickest way to move a straggler on line in an airport is to yell out, “Hey, Slowpoke! I’m in a hurry. Hear that ticking? My vest is set to go off in five minutes. Shake a leg, will ya?”

  After a brief stop with the good folks at the TSA, you’ll be on board in no time!

  And John, you ain’t the only frequent flier who’s fed the fuck up.