Thursday, February 19, 2004
A while back I watched a strange little documentary which consisted of nothing more than a southern homosexual named Jeffrey Strouth chain smoking and nattering on in this oddly compelling nasal sissy-twang from the back seat of a Cadillac. As he and the car meander over the backroads of Ohio, he reminisces about his trashy Southern Gothic childhood (complete with a rarely employed Elvis impersonating father) and various other adventures, all of which are - what else but - outrageously fabulous.  His non-stop monologue is like a cross between Bobby "luxuuuuurious" Trendy and Spalding Grey (God rest his soul).
His best story is when he and Wolfgang, his even more flamboyant boyfriend of the time, were hitchhiking ill-advisedly through Oklahoma en route to Los Angeles. They weighed about 90 pounds a piece and were dressed to the nines, complete with sumptuous feathered boas. In addition to all of their luggage Strouth was carrying a teacup poodle and Wolfgang a large white gilded birdcage.
They get picked up by a sub-white trash man and his 10 year old son in a filthy old truck. The father and son pass back and forth a bottle of whiskey in silence for about an hour, until the father leans over toward them and says conversationally,
"You know what you boys ought ta do while yer in Oklahoma? You ought to head on down to one of these Injun reservations and get you some squaw pussy."
Wolfgang and Strouth sit there in stunned silence, clutching the tea cup poodle and white gilded birdcage to their respective chests. Then Wolfgang shrieks,
"OMIGOD, did he just say SQUAW PUSSY?"
A little offended by their reaction, the man dumps them off on the side of the road and it takes them weeks and some jail time before they finally escape Oklahoma.
One time when he was a little boy his brother and his gang of friends had him on the ground beating him for being such a fairy, he shouted this novel, but ultimately ineffective, defense: "But you cain't beat me! I'm pregggggnant!"
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