I received a letter and playbill in the mail this week informing me that a Kukka-Maria impersonator is touring across the United States, performing a cheesy cabaret act.
Apparently, Kukka-Mario's make-up is gaudy, his feather boa is kitschy (and a bit dingy, I'm afraid), and his fur is dull--devoid of my natural shimmer and shine. I've even heard he paints his naturally dark paw-pads pink!!
What is worse...and I don't think I can even write this without gasping and shrieking: He has padded his stomach and hind quarters with pillows in an attempt to replicate my beauteous womanly curves! PILLOWS?! Am I packing the curves of a squillion women? Bastard! I mean...LOOK AT THE PHOTO! That cat is FAT! It's clearly a half-assed effort to capture my stunning beauty. Although, with all of the ass-padding, it's really a double-assed effort!
Oh, I am so distraught over this whole thing; I can't even laugh at my own jokes today!!
And when have I ever...E-VER worn a blue wig?
More important than the emotional onslaught I've endured over this hideous physical interpretation of The Empress, there are some key logistical matters to address:
- Show me the money. Where's my cut of his tour profits? The check with my percentage of ticket sales is in the mail, right? While I feel his act is completely inferior to the real thing, I want--and deserve--a piece of the action. And, in order to reduce his overhead expenses and increase my potential profits, he should really consider putting down roots. Traveling around the country is expensive! I think he should take a look at making a home in Las Vegas. Yes, Vegas is a stretch--being such a conservative community, but I think having a tranny move in might give that village the edge it so desperately needs.
- Shake what yo' mama gave you. I'm sorry...what, what? Is that supposed to be "choreography?" I've heard Paula Abdul helped him come up with that routine. Paula, if you're reading this: Congratulations! You have just obtained a permanent spot on my Litter List! Someone needs to tell this she-male that no one wants to see a pillow-clad ass swaying in their faces. Don't get me wrong. My dirty-dancing skillz are LEGENDARY! I've even won squillions of awards for my pelvic thrusts alone, but I am not a stripper. Nor do I dance like a stripper all the time. Kukka-Mario needs to revise his act to include some demure footwork and prudish paw movements. Remember what I always say: LESS IS MORE!
- No one likes a tabloid whore. As soon as my squillions of fans read this blog post, it is going to create a frenzy. This will attract the tabloids--which will be exciting for a no-name, inexperienced unknown like Kukka-Mario. I'm screwed. I work so hard to live a modest life, free of drama, turmoil and commotion. Since no one even knows this
chick'sdude's name, if he gets caught up in the slime-media attention, the negative press will reflect poorly on me.
I think I'm going to have to consult with my
mom agent and team of feral alley cat lawyers. There has to be something I can do to stop this horrible injustice!