I paused, not knowing what to say. When my

I paused, not knowing what to say. When my Mother dropped the bomb on me about the divorce, I just left him there. I really hoped I'd never have to live that down. Sure, he was a
mid-rent gigolo and all that, but he was my father first and foremost. He was always welcome at my house, even though I'd make him sit on a towel and ask him to refrain from using
kleenex to pad his bra. Rupaul as he was known to others was the one person I called Daddy, and actually meant it.
But that's because I actually mean all the sick, co-dependent narcissistic trash that pours out of my mouth. Rupaul needs to stay out of my space, but he can never leave. Hotel
California was a lovely place, until the zombie apocalypse hit us like a Grey Hound bus. No one was prepared, and Rupaul grated my nerves, I wouldn't think of ever
betraying Cowboy TV! I knew he would save
us all from an almost imminent headache if he just stopped broadcasting alltogether...
But no, they insisted on showing hours of Putin shirtless doing macho things. It was like chaste gay porn. When the camera centered on his ass running away on the trail, I knew Ivan
had eaten one too many KFC monster buckets. He always did have a weak digestion for chicken. I guess now he'd just have to
live with the fact that he would never be good enough. How could he call himself a man when he couldn't even stomach a monster bucket? He was weak.

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