Betseyville@Avalon, March Something, ’07
Hrmph. . .sorry my Starrlings. . .urk. . . [heavy breathing]. . . but your Starry. . . eeeg. . . is in the middle. . .snook. . .of doing something. . .cmub. . .tricky. . .
. . .and they said you couldn’t deconstruct vintage Louis Vuitton handbags and sew them back together into harem-inspired culottes!
Speaking of bags, Betsey Johnson’s were the theme of the latest and greatest excuse to get jiggedy at the Avalon. (HA HA HA HA HA “jiggedy” I am a ge3ius and a cun7!) Her Starresty was hoping to bag a purse or five but that modest plan was scratched by a sitchie that she will dramatize as an exchange between a gorgeous airplane and a jealous, dykey control tower.
“Starry Knightz to Avalon Party Control, Starry Knightz to Avalon Party Control, requesting permission to come in for a fierce and unforgettable landing.”
“Negative, Starry Knightz. We have a Switchfoot show still on the runway. Audience must exit safely and non-hazardously. You will be diverted to the Jerry Lewis Townhouse along with 200 of your new best friends.”
“The Whoochfoot who??? I don’t need new best friends, I need to get drunk with my old worst friends, Keith SubUrban and Jake Thrillenhaal.”
“You have to wait.”
“But Starry’z thirsty!!!”
“You have to wait. Jerry Lewis Townhouse. Out.”
Sighz. Fast-forward to the JLT. Nothing but as3es and e7bows. Which sounds promising except everyone’s dressed. And my free-drink eggtimer is down to eleven minutes. And the line at the bar looks like the Bangladesh DMV. In the year 3012. Poop! Starry needs a breather.
She findz her way to a sublounge of the T-House. Kitschy. Empty. Morocco. I can take a seat and text some new entries into my extra-fierze online 8ictio3ar7:
MEXAMENIAN (mex*uh*meen*8*yun) (n.): a clubgoer of uncertain ethnic background. Probably wearing jeans with lots of zippers.
“All these Mexamenians need to dial back the CK One or I’m gonna pass out.”
BYZANTEEN (biz*n*teen) (n.): a younger clubgoer who mixes 5-13 contrasting style profiles.
“So this kid walks up to me, total byzanteen, he’s wearing like Chuck Taylors, parachute pants, and a wrestling belt. He wants to borrow my handstamp. I said f*** you get your own.
COMPTAIL (comp*tayl) (n.): an alcoholic drink provided free by the corporate sponsor of your event. Usually comes in one of one flavors and is no longer available fifteen minutes before you were allowed inside.
“Starry Knightz better get a comptail or she’s gonna straight up rape somebody.”
Whew! That gave me a headache! Time for a comptail. What? Th3y stopped serving at 8:45!!!??? Shooz–Starry Knightz better get a comptail or she’s gonna straight up rape somebody. Sighzzzzz. Well at least they opened the main floor so your Starrzkins can dance out her fru5tra7yonzzzz.
And remember Starrlings: metallic fabrics are a tool–but they’re not the new tulle!!!!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA That even sucked MY ass!!!!!! TOOOO@dl5ezZzzz7!!!!