Boogie avec le Marquis le Marquis’ Intimate Diary

THURSDAY, 14 DECEMBER, 2000, NEW ORLEANS
This was brought to my attention by the talented, forked-tongue, and much-lauded Mordantia Bat. Is it she who so frequently reminds me that the world can in fact be a perfect, perfect place.



—I just read an article on Oscar Wilde’s death anniversary on Salon.com, and I simply must share this excerpt. The author is describing taking a cemetery tour in Paris, and this is what the tour guide said at Oscar’s gravesite—

“This is the tomb of the famous Irish writer and homosexual Oscar Wilde,” he said in French. “Notice that there is no penis. Queers (pédés) used to come here at night, get on all fours and thread the angel’s member into their asses. In 1910, the cemetery guardian had the object of desire removed and it is still used as a paperweight in the office of the cemetery’s director.”

Lordy, lordy, lordy.



You said it, Bat.



God, I’m having the goofiest day. I mean, nothing goofy is going on, per se, but I’m a big goobly bubbly giggly goofy thing nonetheless.

Hey, do y’all remember my Obnoxiously Orange Tissue Hound that I picked up with Lees® in Boston?

I just went into the bathroom to take a shower and saw it, sitting there, pouting on the back of the toilet, bereft of its precious Tissue Offerings.

And I just lost it. A silent giggle, erupting into a sort of snort-sounding thing, evolving into guffaws and, if the episode had continued, it would have ended in tears.

My kitsch packs a punch, baybee. You best be believin’.
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