DOLLY PARTON: I LOVE Dolly Parton. She’s as close to being a drag queen as a woman can get without having a strap-on or a dick. That said, forty years of clucking and giggling can get on your nerves. Is she NEVER sad? Is everything ALWAYS good, ALWAYS joyful? Be honest, just once, wouldn’t you like to see Dolly sitting in the yard, barefoot, wearing a torn housedress and cheap lipstick, lighting up a smoke, and mumbling, “Daddy won’t fuck me. Y’all know that, right?”
TOM CRUISE: He is a giant ball of WTF! He laughs ALL the time. From Oprah to Fallon to Colbert to Conan, whenever he sits down he starts laughing. Maybe he’s got a fuzzy butt plug stuck in his perfectly round bubble ass. Tom doesn’t just laugh at jokes, he laughs at greetings, and news items and commercial breaks. Clowns aren’t that fucking happy. Yes, he’s worth a gazillion dollars, and even at 105 years old he still has a killer smile, but seriously? Maybe page 55 of the Scientology manual says, “Smile and laugh, naturally. Turn to page 56.”
Money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy a week in Paris and a new vibrator.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
Chapter 10
It’s All About Me
If we lose love and self-respect for each other, this is how we die.
MAYA ANGELOU
Bitch died. See where all that “respecting others” bullshit got her?
BIANCA DEL RIO
I wasn’t hungry, I just stopped in to complain.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
You’re probably thinking, “This will be my favorite chapter in the book because I SOOOOO love Bianca, I want to read and think ONLY about HER, all day and all night long, 24/7, 365 days a year!” While I’m flattered by your borderline stalk-ish admiration, you’re wrong; this chapter is more of a potpourri than an homage to moi. And FYI, when I say “potpourri,” I mean a hodgepodge of loose ends, not a bowl of scented leaves you put in the bathroom so the whole house doesn’t stink when one of your fat friends comes over and takes a huge power shit in the sink. While some of the questions in this chapter are about me, the truth is I just got tired of writing this goddamned book and took whatever leftover letters I couldn’t find a proper chapter for and shoved them in here. Okay???
Bianca,
Have you gotten in touch with your inner child?
James
Cleveland, Ohio
James,
Yes, I have. Her name is JonBénet.
James, I hate the expression get in touch with your inner child. It’s more annoying than hearing dentures click when you’re getting head. Jared from Subway was told to get in touch with his inner child—how’d that work out for everybody? Okay, maybe Jared misunderstood, and thought it was “get inside a child,” but still, I’m pretty sure the outcome would’ve been the same.
Even worse, what if your inner child is one of the Menéndez Brothers? Chances are the present-day you is far better than Lyle or Erik, so should you really be reaching back into your past to meet your younger self? I’ll bet your parents would be none too pleased with this discovery.
The only way I’m okay with the “inner child” thing is if the inner child actually IS an inner child—you know, a fetus stuck inside a fetus during a freakish pregnancy. I see this sort of stuff all the time, usually on TLC or some random fetish website I accidentally came upon. Fetus number two starts out as a tooth with hair, but by the second trimester he’s Little Jimmy, and now fetus number one is a baby daddy and the pregnant woman is going to be both a baby mama AND a baby grandmama. Fabulous, no?
Look, of course I want the tooth with hair to grow up and be pretty and healthy (I’m cunty, not cruel). I want ALL children, inner and outer, to come out in perfect health; I just don’t want to hear about it, especially if the “inner child” belongs to a fifty-eight-year-old dermatologist from Queens trying to work out his “I could never please my daddy” issues, okay?
Oh, and one last thing, James. I don’t understand men named James who insist on being called James. Pre-fucking-tentious. What’s wrong with Jim, or Jimmy, or even, God help me, Jimbo? Unless you’re famous like James Taylor or important like James Madison, insisting on being called “James” isn’t cool, it’s stupid. You don’t see me using MY real name, do you? Of course not; I’m cool. (FYI, my real name is Shitface.) Thank you so much for your question. Hope I was helpful!
* * *
Dear Bianca,
If you were stuck in a lift (elevator) with Donald Trump, what would be your opening line?
Becki
London, UK
Becki,
“OMG, Donald Trump! Mr. President, can I just say, your son Barron can really suck a dick?” (Don’t judge me; rich retards need love, too.) Of course, I may just vomit in my mouth and then feed it back to him, the way Alicia Silverstone feeds her kid.
* * *
Dear Bianca,
How much makeup is too much? My mother says when I put on lipstick or use blush, I look like a whore.
Mary
Swarthmore, Pennsylvania
Dear Mary,
Your mother’s a cunt. Look at ME. Whore is my middle name.
P.S. I once knew a woman in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania. Snooty bitch, you couldn’t drive a pin up her ass with a jackhammer. And I tried.
* * *
Bianca,
Firstly, let me say that I’m a big fan of yours and someday I hope to meet you. Secondly, if (I mean, when!) that day comes, I don’t want to offend you, so . . . do you like to be referred to as “she” or “he”?
Allan G
Wasilla, Alaska
Allan,
Firstly, you can’t offend me. Nothing offends me. I’m okay with kicking puppies and burning down nursing homes. Secondly, firstly is not a word. Thirdly, I look forward to meeting you someday, too. (Although, truth be told, until Sarah Palin and her kids Bristol, and Boo-Boo, and Trick or Treat move to Peru, there’s not an Eskimo’s chance I’ll come to Alaska. Besides, you can’t look fabulous in mukluks. And Mommy doesn’t do ice.)
Truth be told, what you call me depends on who you are. (Real answer.)
* * *
What does RuPaul smell like?
Gina
Brooklyn, New York
Gina,
She smells like Lady Bunny’s pussy.
* * *
Bianca,
How many pounds of makeup do you go through in a year to get that natural look?
Devon
Los Angeles, California
Devon,
I assume by “pounds” you mean “tons”? And by “natural” you mean “like a corpse”? (If I was your grandmother you’d say, “Oh, she looks so peaceful.”) I obviously go through massive amounts of cheap makeup. When I leave Costco my cart is loaded up. I take more loads than a hooker in Las Vegas.
But none of my makeup goes to waste. In fact, I recycle! After a show, when the handlers and trainers come backstage to hose me down, I stand in a giant bucket so that when they turn the faucets on my makeup doesn’t come gushing down and run all over the floor (and accidentally drown my hustler, I mean, date, who’s passed out, drunk, on the floor). I freeze the runoff and use it for icing on cakes! The colors are so bright and vivid. Nothing says “Happy Birthday!” like Maybelline Blush #7.
I know what you’re thinking: “Jeez, Bianca, isn’t makeup toxic?” Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never had any complaints. Of course, I’ve never seen any of them ever again . . . Hmm . . .
* * *
Dear Bianca,
When you’re having a bad day, what do you do to cheer yourself up?
Robert
Los Angeles
Robert,
That’s easy: Dress up like a priest and fuck a kid.
* * *
Bianca:
I have a two-part question. 1. Do you believe in life after death? 2. What do you want your last words to be?
Jimmy
Boston, Massachusetts
Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,
&nb
sp; Two-part questions are actually two separate questions, and as I specifically noted on my website, people were asked to send in A question, not some questionS. So, unless you’re schizophrenic or one half of a conjoined twin set, you’ve broken the rules. Yet, because I’m so good-natured and kind, I’ll overlook your horrible fucking transgression and go on to answer your battery of questions.
But before I do, I must know, ARE you one half of a conjoined twin set? In which case, if I sleep with you, does it count as a three-way? When I was growing up we had conjoined twins living down the street from us. They were connected at the head. I remember the first time I saw them I asked my dear, sweet mother, “Mommy, are they boys or girls?” My mother lovingly replied, “What the fuck difference does it make? They’re connected at the head!” The twins were quite lovely; hard to buy hats for, but lovely. And they had a great sense of humor. I’d call them a “two-faced bitch,” and they’d laugh—out of both sides of their mouths. (FYI, back in the day, they were called “Siamese twins,” because the first known pair, Chang and Eng, were born in Siam in 1811. I didn’t know that until I did some research for this book. (And by research I mean I said to my longtime personal assistant, Jamie, “Hey, you in the leg irons, google ‘freaks.’”) Up until now I thought it was because the original conjoined twins were gay and knew the entire score of The King and I. Live and learn.)
Anyway, Jimmy, back to your questionSSS. 1. I have no idea if there’s an afterlife, any more than I know if there’s a heaven or a hell, or if there’s a white person who eats at Popeye’s. What I do know is that if there IS an afterlife, I pray it comes with water-resistant, hypoallergenic foundation and base. And 2. My last words will be “Not today, Satan.”
* * *
Bianca,
My husband Jon wants to know how often you wash your belly button? He says he wants to know for science.
Lori
Flint, Michigan
Lori,
I saved the lint and made the blanket they filmed Lucy through in Mame.
* * *
Dear Bianca,
Where is your favorite place to fuck?
Curious Cathy
Midland, Texas
Cathy,
Ask your husband. (FYI, your sheets need a higher thread count.) Still curious?
* * *
Dear Bianca,
What would you say if Donald Trump grabbed your pussy?
Nancy P
Washington, D.C.
Nancy,
I’d tell him to turn me over; you know he likes to flip properties.
* * *
Bianca:
If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?
Barbara W
New York City
Babs,
Big enough to dangle a family of slaves. I’m kidding, only two of them, maybe the mom and a sturdy boy.
* * *
Dear Bianca,
How do you start your day?
Nikki
Miami Beach
Nikki,
What is day? Whenever I come to wake up I have cereal . . . with vodka. Breakfast of champions!
* * *
Bianca,
Have you ever eaten food that came out of a Dumpster?
Amy
New York City
Dear Amy,
What kind of Dumpster, garbage or cum? Doesn’t matter. Yes.
* * *
Dearest Bianca,
How can I convince my man to agree to adopt a puppy? I would love one. He is on the fence, afraid of the commitment.
Caring for a Canine
in Canada
Dear Caring,
If he’s afraid of a commitment to a puppy, I’m guessing your man is never going to be a husband. If you’re okay with that, and you REALLY want a puppy . . . promise him that you’ll take complete and total care of the dog (feed, him, walk him, clean up the poop in the house) and he won’t have to do anything. You’ll be lying, of course, but so what? Besides, the dog will be temporary. You live in Canada; the poor thing will probably freeze to death before he’s housebroken. (FYI, you’re Canadian, I’m sure your government, and your very hot, very fuckable, very sane prime minister, have cheap prescription drugs available.)
Muah!
* * *
Hey Bianca,
I am a commander of a national winning JROTC drill team down in southern Missouri. I am also a senior in high school and would love to hear back from you on how to handle stress at such a young age.
Alexis L
Dear Alexis,
I can’t tell from your name if you’re male or female. (I assume if you were transgender you would have causally mentioned it in your letter, like they all do. VERY annoying.) Alexis is one of those androgynous names, like Pat or Gene/Jean or Tilda Swinton. Regardless, I love that you’re getting drilled in high school. How to handle stress? Easy—Drill, Baby, Drill! (If you’re a boy, stop when you hit oil.)
* * *
Dear Bianca:
What are your thoughts about the afterlife? What do you think happens when we die? I’m asking because I have severe anxiety about this topic. I know you don’t know 100% what will happen, but I’m just curious to know what you think. Thank you!
Alina Khanbabaian ♥
Dear Sad Sack,
OMG! Congratulations!! You are the winner of the Dr. Kevorkian Most Depressing Person in the World Award. Your family will receive complimentary funeral services along with black veils, wilting flowers, and Kleenex! Alina, I have no idea how old you are, but unless you’re ninety or hooked up to a breathing machine, you definitely need some counseling.
Afterlife? I can barely organize next Thursday. I have no idea what happens after we die. I think you should ask Shirley MacLaine. She’s done it twenty-seven times. My guess is, if you’re Catholic or Christian, you go to heaven or hell. If you’re Buddhist, you go to another life. And if you’re Jewish you go to Boca Raton. Your last name sounds Armenian, so I’m guessing you’ll make a sex tape with a black man and then get a series on E!
As for me, if there is an afterlife, I hope to come back as a bench in the New York Yankees’ locker room.
* * *
Hello Bianca,
I have a few questions to ask you.
First, what is the best way to break the ice with a guy you just met? I am so nervous in gay clubs and on gay dating websites and I always feel like I am going to make an idiot out of myself. How do you recommend I get over this?
Second, what is your Grindr profile? And what do you recommend as a funny bio for my profile? How about a quote from you? ;D
And thirdly, I am trying to complete my degree right now and I am losing all motivation to complete it. What words of advice would you give to me to keep going?
I spent four hours getting in drag for this. Why? If you think this picture is great, the next one is even better. The girl in the background walks into the wall.
© Jovanni Jimenez-Pedraza
I hope you get to answer these and I cannot wait to meet you in Dublin for Queens of Comedy!!
Love,
Dillon
Dear Dillon from Dublin,
How did you know that I LOVE alliterations! This Queen answers Questions Quickly! (Let’s see Dear Fucking Abby do that!)
Easiest way to introduce yourself to a guy you just met is to take his dick out of your mouth, wipe off your chin, and say, “Hi, my name is Dillon!” Oh, wait—I just read the rest of the paragraph. You’re talking about an actual DATE, which, I’m told, is when someone likes you and wants to get to know you. Since I’ve never been on one, can’t help ya there, Princess. Sorry.
My Grindr profile is private, I’ve only given it out to 283,000 men. Again, sorry. But if you’d like a quote from me for your profile, how ‘bout: “Dillon from Dublin has the Dick of Death!” ☺
As for your degree, I have no advice for you here, either. I make a living wearing gaudy makeup, fake tits, and nine-dollar wigs.
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I feel bad that I didn’t have great answers for all three of your questions, but then again, I asked people to send in ONE question, not three, so I don’t feel that bad, you greedy fuck. You gays ruin everything.
Have a great day!
BDR
* * *
Bianca,
I have a tattoo of you on my arm. I’ve decided that I no longer want it since Bob was the better comedy winner. How do you recommend removing it?
Cassie W
Dear Cassie,
Cut your arm off. Cunt.
Muah ☺
* * *
Dear Miss B,
Every single day at my local supermarket there are various organizations asking for donations or selling things to raise money for Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, VFW, anti-drug campaigns, pro-drug campaigns, children’s hospitals, church groups, etc. You can’t get in or out of the store without being accosted. I try to be charitable but it’s starting to feel like an assault. Management says there’s nothing they can do about it. Any suggestions?
Rita
Redondo Beach, California
Dear Rita,
Begging is sooooo fucking draining! I’m tired answering your question. I have a couple of thoughts. One, ALWAYS dress in black and wear a veil when you go shopping. Let them think you’ve lost your husband or a child. At some point they’ll realize it’s a scam and that it’s not possible for you to have lost a loved one EVERY single week, or that you have lost someone every single week because you’re a serial killer. Either way, they’ll leave you alone. You can also wear a hazmat suit when heading to the market. No one will take money from an infectious loser.
Blame It on Bianca Del Rio_The Expert on Nothing With an Opinion on Everything Page 14