Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, September 01, 2003

Sorry, I'm A Lady

It is with terrible sadness that we mark the passing of one of this blog’s daftest and most cliché’d readers, Dame Helen Rugburns-Stonelake. While she may not be dead, she is no longer under my protective gay-ze working at the reception desk of our fabulous media company and disappeared off into that generic oblivion of ‘going travelling around Europe’. Aww.

Helen has been labelled by anyone in authority as ‘highly inappropriate’, and dressed for work like someone had been dragged through her bush backwards, frankly. She was typical sit-com receptionist: ditzy with an overt fondness for plastic jewellery, mouthy yet caring when she needs to be near the end of the episode, and a complete fag bangle. She was never above letting me squeeze her bosoms in company to make a ‘honk!-honk!’ noise. For the past couple of weeks she’s been extolling the virtues of younger men; like myself she has a penchant for the older gentleman, but when this 18-year-old youngster took her asunder in a tent at some grubby festival, she wouldn’t shut up about it. Lithe, she said. Firm, she whispered. Like a baby’s arm clutching a she tried to say before I clamped a hand over her mouth and pointed her to the bathroom to wash her mouth out with soap. Then she showed me the most impressive set of rug burns on her back I have ever seen. She was, and always will be, a complete lady.

Helen, if you’re reading this, we miss you, and we hope you’ve found happiness in that topless pole-dancing club in Burro-Burro.

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