Hedda Dishes Drag Race ::Entertainment at rock-bottom prices
Honey, putting those bitches in the wrestling ring in skimpy outfits, and forcing them to battle it out with one another, was a sure fire way of causing a stir... in some tranny chasers pants. I can hear the sounds of sloshing lube, against erect penises right now if I listen closely enough. Oh, wait, that is me.
Seeing Madame LaQueer, the Puerto Rican Divine, in hot pink, has me mysteriously turned on. Don’t judge me. Sensationalizing the drag community in such a garish Jerry Springer way surely won’t go over well with some folk. Personally I enjoyed it. In fact I wanted them to take it one step forward and have a medieval battle to the death instead. With maces and swords in hand, watching Latrice Royal gut Willam would make me giggle with glee.
Having the ’girls’ in teams of four and pitting them against one another-good girls versus bad-was interesting to watch; though, sad as well. The team captains had to pick who would be on their team; immediately I had a flash back to grade school. Being the fem boy, with a Dorothy Hamill bowl haircut, hoping I would not be picked last caused me great duress. Needless to say, I was always picked last.
Madame LaQueer was that unfortunate freak amongst freaks to take that title. Her eyes moistened as she hung her head low, telling the cameras she was used to this sort of thing. Then her bigger revelation was revealed-she has a bum ankle, making wrestling dangerous to her health. According to Madame, she had an accident on stage while doing a box step with a boxed lunch in her hand. Surely the mutton chop in her lunch pail was the cause of her ankle giving away. But Madame LaQueer proved them all wrong and was the winner of the challenge, along with her partner Chad Michaels, who in my opinion is lying about her age. She says she is only 40 years-old. The only that way that could be true, is if she came out of her mothers womb with a crack pipe. That being said, she did an amazing job playing a bad girl.
By the last twenty minutes of the show, I was exhausted. It was as if I was in the ring with the girls. As they did their final runway walk, dolled up to the nines, I was pouring myself another cocktail and popping an upper so I could finish watching.
They all looked great with the exception of DiDa Ritz. Her hair was limp and dry, as if it was used to wipe the sweat of Latrice Royal’s upper lip. Her dress was a potato sack, with what looked like a pee stain in the center. She said she was giving "Sex In The City." Looked more like Sex In My Shitty; cause that outfit smelled like poo. Frankly, she should have been picked in the bottom two. But the panel of estimable judges did not think so and picked Lashauwn Beyond and The Princess. Both of them have the personality of a wet dishrag. They are lovely, sweet people, but that does not make a good Drag Queen. A Drag Queen has to have a bite. Sharon Needles, Phi Phi O’Hara, and Latrice Royale all have that special something that draws you in, that makes you want to watch them.
As they lip-synced for their lives, Lashauwn was the instant loser. Taking off her heels and prancing around in a flat foot was a shocking drag no-no. If you can’t wear the shoes girl, then don’t play the game. A drag queen without her shoes is like a hooker without a STD. Ask Lady Bunny. She is drag queen and a hooker.
Will I be watching next week? Of course, I am getting paid to watch it. Otherwise I would be in bed with a gentleman caller, showing him my moves in the ring.