With a dull heterosexual cameraman and Simon the boom-guy (because brainy-girlies are scared of spooks?)
following behind (fnar-fnar), the intrepid LGBT+-gang step into the dark corridor of a closed historical building
and wonder if puncturing another part of their faces would help them face the reality they've been denying.
It's midnight in the Ohio State Reformatory and questions about over-the-top fashion and appropriate objects
to use on one's rectum need answering. Is heavy eye-make-up still enjoyed in the afterlife?
Are gaudy 'look-at-me' colours allowed beyond the veil? Can ectoplasm really double as a lubricant?
This crew needs to know and so into the darkness they mince. With lipstick around their mouths and blue hair
spiked high, they step forward and hope the ethereal-plane accepts that the idea of failing in one reality, doesn't
necessarily mean you can't make a difference -or simply annoy, in another.
Not wishing to add to the US's carbon footprint and upset the horny dolphins, they refrain from switching the
lights on. Anyway, ghosts don't like the light. This isn't the time for protest-banners or speaking loudly over
someone who disagrees with you, this is an opportunity to infect another place... another realm for pussy-hat
attention-seeking and decadent outrage of oppression.
The eldritch glow from straight-Colin's night-camera gives the walls a sickly -almost, ghoulish look that adds to
the atmospheric scene that's been offered to the viewer. Although, it makes Lionel's blouse look like baby-shit.
Then, the one who likes to be called 'Honey-Boy' and who talks in a monotone cadence sees a movement in
the shadows ahead. Since access to his anal-canal for his west-coast friends is regular, Honey-Boy also
struggles with a movement of his own and quickly reaches for the boom-guy's hand. "Oh my" he whispers
and wiggles his thumb -just in case.
Barack gave them hope and so they walk on. The amorphous shape just ahead seems to not be the director
or one of the catering company, it might actually be a ghost. Zee breathes in deeply, an act she does just before
entering 'The Tool Box' nightclub back home and prepares to meet someone she's never used the strap-on with.
"What star-sign are you...?" Zee whispers towards the nebulous form that roils and twists as if it's acquired a plain
sweater for Christmas. "...Can you tell me if Tom Cruise is actually g..." Her query is stopped as a deep moaning
begins from the vicinity of the assumed-spectre.
Honey-Boy gasps in the same way he did when he found his ex-boyfriend with a ketchup bottle and clutches the
sound-man's hand tighter. "OMG" he murmurs to himself and resists reaching for his phone from the rear-pocket
of his eye-watering tight denim cut-offs. Twitter must surely be notified -he thinks.
Pouting at Zee's bravery, he releases Simon's hand and steps beside the gir... the whatever in the bomber-jacket.
Lionel -always last to arrive (some more fnarr), dallies up with an arm positioned as if he's carrying invisible library
books, and asks Honey-Boy in hushed-tones "Is he a giver or a taker?"
With hands on hips and glitter-spangle festooning his fingernails, Honey-Boy ignores his cohort and watches the
fog that seems to smell of the tobacco that his uncle used to use. Uncle Quentin was the one who introduced him
to those funny wrestling-movies and how to pronounce 'Vaseline' properly.
"Whatcha doin' here" a voice growled from the darkness and that was when two things happened.
One was a haggard old face appeared from the gloomy vapour and the second was the queers and the production
people ran away. Later, it was noted in the editing-room that Lionel ran like a girl.
Barney the Reformatory's custodian and janitor, was sick of these kids sneaking around here at night and pretending
there were spooks. The gnarled softball bat had come in handy when dealing with these middle-class 'Famous-Five'
wannabees and this recent encounter was no different.
Brandishing the weapon before him, he wondered why they can't just get girlfriends and be normal.
"And don't come back..." Dick rasped towards to the retreating group, "...If I catch one of yer' on this property again,
I'll stick this bat right up yer asses!"
Moments later, Lionel called back "Cooweee... I'm over here.
Tune In Next Week: Hunting For Dick. The Last Ride Of The Famous Highwayman.
following behind (fnar-fnar), the intrepid LGBT+-gang step into the dark corridor of a closed historical building
and wonder if puncturing another part of their faces would help them face the reality they've been denying.
It's midnight in the Ohio State Reformatory and questions about over-the-top fashion and appropriate objects
to use on one's rectum need answering. Is heavy eye-make-up still enjoyed in the afterlife?
Are gaudy 'look-at-me' colours allowed beyond the veil? Can ectoplasm really double as a lubricant?
This crew needs to know and so into the darkness they mince. With lipstick around their mouths and blue hair
spiked high, they step forward and hope the ethereal-plane accepts that the idea of failing in one reality, doesn't
necessarily mean you can't make a difference -or simply annoy, in another.
Not wishing to add to the US's carbon footprint and upset the horny dolphins, they refrain from switching the
lights on. Anyway, ghosts don't like the light. This isn't the time for protest-banners or speaking loudly over
someone who disagrees with you, this is an opportunity to infect another place... another realm for pussy-hat
attention-seeking and decadent outrage of oppression.
The eldritch glow from straight-Colin's night-camera gives the walls a sickly -almost, ghoulish look that adds to
the atmospheric scene that's been offered to the viewer. Although, it makes Lionel's blouse look like baby-shit.
Then, the one who likes to be called 'Honey-Boy' and who talks in a monotone cadence sees a movement in
the shadows ahead. Since access to his anal-canal for his west-coast friends is regular, Honey-Boy also
struggles with a movement of his own and quickly reaches for the boom-guy's hand. "Oh my" he whispers
and wiggles his thumb -just in case.
Barack gave them hope and so they walk on. The amorphous shape just ahead seems to not be the director
or one of the catering company, it might actually be a ghost. Zee breathes in deeply, an act she does just before
entering 'The Tool Box' nightclub back home and prepares to meet someone she's never used the strap-on with.
"What star-sign are you...?" Zee whispers towards the nebulous form that roils and twists as if it's acquired a plain
sweater for Christmas. "...Can you tell me if Tom Cruise is actually g..." Her query is stopped as a deep moaning
begins from the vicinity of the assumed-spectre.
Honey-Boy gasps in the same way he did when he found his ex-boyfriend with a ketchup bottle and clutches the
sound-man's hand tighter. "OMG" he murmurs to himself and resists reaching for his phone from the rear-pocket
of his eye-watering tight denim cut-offs. Twitter must surely be notified -he thinks.
Pouting at Zee's bravery, he releases Simon's hand and steps beside the gir... the whatever in the bomber-jacket.
Lionel -always last to arrive (some more fnarr), dallies up with an arm positioned as if he's carrying invisible library
books, and asks Honey-Boy in hushed-tones "Is he a giver or a taker?"
With hands on hips and glitter-spangle festooning his fingernails, Honey-Boy ignores his cohort and watches the
fog that seems to smell of the tobacco that his uncle used to use. Uncle Quentin was the one who introduced him
to those funny wrestling-movies and how to pronounce 'Vaseline' properly.
"Whatcha doin' here" a voice growled from the darkness and that was when two things happened.
One was a haggard old face appeared from the gloomy vapour and the second was the queers and the production
people ran away. Later, it was noted in the editing-room that Lionel ran like a girl.
Barney the Reformatory's custodian and janitor, was sick of these kids sneaking around here at night and pretending
there were spooks. The gnarled softball bat had come in handy when dealing with these middle-class 'Famous-Five'
wannabees and this recent encounter was no different.
Brandishing the weapon before him, he wondered why they can't just get girlfriends and be normal.
"And don't come back..." Dick rasped towards to the retreating group, "...If I catch one of yer' on this property again,
I'll stick this bat right up yer asses!"
Moments later, Lionel called back "Cooweee... I'm over here.
Tune In Next Week: Hunting For Dick. The Last Ride Of The Famous Highwayman.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.