Terrorist transvestites and little Ling-ling.

This morning as I sat at my favorite hangout, The Grill downtown on Congress St., I looked up from my bowl of Cap'n Crunch to see Tony staring and smiling back at me. I knew he was doped up on speed and invited him to sit and have a cup of coffee.
After a shaky couple of sips of Joe and a long puff on a Lucky Strike, he asked if I wanted to go and visit a friend of his. Sure, I said, got nothing better to do. We hailed a cab and pulled up in front of this seven-story red brick building. The elevator didn't work, so we took the stairs. From down the stank hall, with its yellow and flaking paint, hissing pipes, and shredded red carpet, Tony and I heard muffled yelling being drowned out by Ricki Martin's Shake Your Bon-Bon being blasted at high decibels. Knocking on the door to 7E, it was flung open by a tall fat guy in a flowered mu-mu and dark sunglasses. His brown sweaty face was covered in black stubble. She looked like a third-rate Divine but had the grating voice of Harvey Fierstein. Drunk off her ass, she invited us in. Now being accosted by drunken transvestites is nothing new to me at 9:36 in the morning. But, this one put me on edge.
The small one-bedroom apartment looked like Elton John threw up in it. Everything was red satin with tassels and boas hung from dusty chandeliers with cheap gay pornographic pictures ripped from magazines taped to the yellowish walls. Christmas lights twinkled in an electric spiderweb. There were clothes, dresses, and theatrical costumes everywhere. Sitting on the floor in the lotus position gazing into a large mirror propped against the leg of a table stroking their eyeliner, were two naked transsexuals, one black, one Mexican. Naked. Their penises and large breasts for the world to see.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi" They honked and smiled and returned to their mascara.
"Higher, Goddamnit!! I said higher!" Screamed the big drag queen to a little Asian guy who wore nothing but blue running shorts and sandals. He crazily teased a beehive wig on a Styrofoam head. The titanic transvestite slapped the Asian on the back of the head. "I want more height, you fucker! Make it fuller! Goddammit, Ling-ling, can't you do shit right?"
Ling-ling continued to tease and tease.
The big drag queen turned to Tony and me. "Hey, bitch!" She smiled, took a toke from a joint buried in an ashtray, and stomped over to Tony with arms outstretched. "How the fuck are ya?"
"Hey, Marcus," Tony said, his small frame being swallowed in sweaty fat. "This is ****, I invited him over."
"Oooooh, he's a cute white boy." She tottered and we hugged and pecked cheeks. names were exchanged and drugs and liquor were offered. The morning went by and Tony, Marcus, and I sat on the rickety couch smoking pot, drinking whiskey, and watching The Jerry Springer Show. The gay double entendre flew! I had everybody laughing, except for the occasional outlash, verbal and physical, from Marcus to Ling-ling. Who the fuck were these freaks? Why was this little Asian being tortured by this thunderlizard?
When Marcus found out that I was a filmmaker, he went ape-shit and talked me into driving around town and filming him in drag terrorizing the locals. Hell yeah! I said. And once we drove to my apartment in his ratty Volvo to get my video camera I soon came up with a couple of ideas.
Marcus dressed his 350lb. six-foot-two frame in a white spandex dress with horizontal black pinstripes, Jackie-O sunglasses, black cha-cha heels, and the huge beehive wig Ling-ling labored over. Marcus...I'm sorry Ida Slapter, stood at a bus stop and waited for one to arrive. Tony and I got onto the same bus route but a couple of stops before her. When Ida Slapter clomped onto the almost packed bus, I sat in the very back middle seat and filmed the whole debacle.
"Excuse me." She asked the bus driver, "How much is the fare?"
"A dollar."
"Oh, all I have is a ten-dollar bill." She then proceeded to walk down the isle of the bus and ask each and every appalled and terrified patron if they had any change. Trust me, the look on their faces was fabulous! Finally, a little Mexican guy gave her change and we were off.
Ida sat next to an old, retarded man wearing shorts, t-shirt, and rain galoshes. He quivered and fidgeted with that huge bitch sitting next to him. Wouldn't you?
"Humph, that grrlz ready for Hell and high water." Ida quipped, casually pointing at the galoshes, and some patrons snickered and laughed. The retarded guy had a nervous tick in a way that he kept swaying his head back and forth like he was saying no.
"Excuse me," Ida asked him. "Do you know the way to San Jose?"
The retard kept moving his head.
"No? (Man continues to swing head back and forth.) You don't? (Continues to swing head back and forth.) No? Really? (Continues to swing head back and forth.) Why do you keep nodding your head no? (Continues to swing head back and forth.) Stop being so negative!"
The back of the bus was loud with laughter.
We were asked to put the camera away and leave the bus by the driver. Spoilsport!
I videoed Tony and Ida sashaying down the street, arm in arm, right past a construction site. There were cat calls and faggot was yelled a couple of times. Oh, the men were going nuts! It was a fun time with that big bitch and Tony today. Ida invited me to come watch her and her two roommates, Cameltoe and Virginia Hamm, perform at a Drag Bar this Friday called The Hawaiian. I told her I'd red-mark it on my calendar.
We then spent the remainder of the evening at Venture In and got very drunk. After a few Martinis and Cape Cods, I remember I met some real cute white guy with blue eyes and black hair (I'm a sucker for guys with black hair!) from the University of Arizona and made out with him by the pinball machine. Tilt! Ding! Ding! Ding! I think Tony had my video camera and taped that softcore porn. Egads!
Well, I'm back home and sitting on my bed in my boxers typing on my laptop and I wanna say Hi to everyone. Because I'm drunk.
Hi.
Welp, good night and don't let the bed bugs bite!