Saturday, December 2, 2006

The Last Train to Siskville

One of my most fiercely loyal and obsessive reader/fans, a Mr. Keith Sisk, of Siskville, North Carolina, sent me this lovely photo a couple days ago. He took it in Siskville, the town where he lives, which has, coincidentally, a quite similar name to his. I must say, no disrespect to the citizens of Siskville except for the disrespectful ones, since they clearly have tremendously good taste given how I've been held over, but their town looks a bit plastic to me. Frankly, Disneyland looks more genuine.

Quite oddly, Little Keith says that Siskville is reachable only by train. Rather insultingly, he says you can only get there by his HO Trains. Now I've been called a Ho many, many times over the years, and it's only seldom been a compliment. See F. Emmett Knight's comments re: "The Whore of Babylon" in my posting Marry Me a Little below. The fact is that charges of my being a "Ho" are greatly exaggerated. I have never charged for it in my life.

It's even odder to call a train a "Ho," since, let's face it, the train generally goes into the tunnel. The tunnel never goes into the train. So whatever Keith meant by calling his trains HOs, I can't imagine. On the other hand, you do pay to ride them, so maybe they're hustlers.

Still odder, he says the trains into Siskville are "Electric Trains." I was unaware that there were any electric trains in America. I thought you could only find electrically powered trains in backward Europe, where Diesel trains have yet to be invented, although there are no shortage of Diesel Dykes, particularly in lovely Holland, where no visit is complete if you don't spend some time with your finger in a dyke, or, if your hands are full, your tongue.

I was also a bit puzzled to see that the movie advertised as being held over in Siskville is My Lush Life. To the best of my admittedly hazy memories, I never appeared in a movie with that title, though I did write an autobiography, beloved the world over (More than 70 copies have sold in Britain alone - 1 more - which I believe makes it their all-time, number one best seller. Eat your heart out, Charles Dickens!), titled My Lush Life.

I wrote to little Keith and asked him about this, and he responded that the movie My Lush Life is, in fact, a documentary about my career, full of clips from my 90 feature films. I have never seen this picture myself, and would love to see it, if someone could send me a print or DVD.

But in any event, it is certainly nice to know that the people of Siskville, North Carolina, love me so much that they have held me over. Further, as I can see from the posters adorning Siskville's many civic buildings, they have placed me on a pedestal, fortunately a shallow one, as I am a tad unsteady on my feet at times, and to tumble off a higher pedestel could land me in a bed beside Liza Minnelli, needing a new hip. And no one wants to end up in a bed next to Liza.

So thank you, Little Keith, for this lovely glimpse at how my cult of fans are still alive and unwell. Let this be a challenge to the rest of you to find your own ways of demonstrating your unhealthy obsessions with me, and send me the photographic proof, to share with the world.

Oh, one other little matter, concerning My Official Portrait Artist, the talented and lovely (And I mean lovely, darlings. He is adorable. I'd be all over him like stupid on President Dubya if he weren't the merest whisper of a homosexual.) Glen Hanson, who created the gorgeous portrait of me that graces my profile on this flog, as well as the covers of my book. Little hair-challenged Glen has a new book out this week, titled Chelsea Boys, Steppin' Out!, written and drawn with his professional partner Allan Neuwirth. It's a collection of their lovely, hilarious comic strip, about three Merest Whispers sharing an apartment in New York City, having gay adventures, so clearly it's science fiction because let's face it; there are no actual gay people in New York. The world of Broadway Theater is utterly incompatible with Sodomites. In any event, no living room is complete without a copy of Chelsea Boys, Steppin' Out!, or better yet three. It's the perfect Christmas Gift for all the little homos on your shopping list, like, for instance, your personal shoppers. While you're at it, check out his website: Glen

Cheers, darlings.


Sister Mary Martha said...

I also you on television while you were being honored at the Kennedy Center. oh wait...that was Dolly Parton. The resemblance is remarkable.

Tallulah Morehead said...

Thank you darling. I'd wondered where the hell I'd been last night. And a compliment like that always means so much more coming from a celebate.

Little Dolly has indeed stolen my formerly unique hairstyle. Now you know why I always wear a turban in public. With her hair like that, we would appear identical in zero gravity. Sadly, on earth my poor puppies, though similar in volume to Little Dolly's, droop just a tad. Last week I suffered the worst titty-twister of my life, when my left nipple got tangled in my shoelaces. And I may never stop having nightmares remembering my escalator accident.

But Little Dolly wasn't the only one copying me at the Kennedy Center Honors. OJ Simpson's adorable sister, Little Ashlee, stole my powers of recall when she sang. People really shouldn't perform drunk unless they've learned how to do it from a professional. Little Ashlee should take my acting & singing workshop, where I teach performing using "The Drink System". Little Mel Gibson swears by it, though of course, Little Mel swears by anything he gets near. And Little Jack Palance actually won an Oscar using my technique.

Thanks for visiting darling. Cheers.

Tallulah Morehead said...

Silly me. I've made slight mistake, the first I've ever made since the time I married Ernest Borgnine. I've said it was Ashlee Simpson who made a fool of herself, forgetting her lyrics and generally screwing up her otherwise awe-inspiring performance at the Kennedy Center Honors the other evening. I was intirely wrong. It was not Ashlee Simpson; It was her sister Jessica who didn't know what the hell she was doing, amateurishly floundering her way through a performance an abnormally-slow seven-year-old would have been ashamed to have done at a ceremony celebrating the finest artists this country has to offer for their extreme excellence. Fortunately for all those who cling to the delusion that Jessica Simpson is in some remote fashion a profesional-level artist whose very presence in this show does not dishonor the honorees, she has been granted a "Re-do", taping a later, non-live performance that will be edited into the upcoming broadcast to preserve the illusion that she is not an incompetant, talentless fool. Thank Heaven for technology.

As for Ashlee Simpson, I DEEPLY apologize for thinking even for a moment that she could be so unprofessional as to appear at the Kennedy Center, in a show attended by the President of the United States, honoring Great Artists for Great Work, not even knowing the lyrics to a song that has been a standard for longer than she's been alive which she was to perform. How I could ever have thought Miss Ashlee Simpson could even score such a prestigious gig, I can't imagine. The presence in the show of Jessica Simpson demonstrates that only artists who maintian the HIGHEST possible professional standards are allowed to participate. Certianly Little Ashlee always gives a totally professional performance of breathtaking artistry, as all viewers of SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE know only too well. My deepest apologies to the Simpson Sisters. As Jessica, Ashlee, and OJ have shown us all, the Simpsons represent a family of talented artists that shames the drab Barrymores of last century.

In unrelated news, I understand the cartoon character Homer Simpson is changing his name to Homer Bin Laden.

Now, what about President Dubya? What do you do when the presence of the President himself dishonors the honorees at a Presidential Honors Show?