ROYAL RESIDENCE 21
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THE ROYAL RESIDENCE
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[ You can write to me at and not at the
address at head of this post or letter. If you are receiving
this article as email, please report technical problems to
Bradley Chapman, Royal Male Man at . ]
This is episode 21. More and more I am cast in the part of
chronicler, not instigator. I feel it is somehow dishonest to
continue the series when it is my loyal subjects who perpetrate
most of this madness and not I. But when there isn't a new rant
gone out for a week or two, the Royal Maleman calls me up to say
you are all whining and need your fix, so here goes.
I guess the hottest news is, Doreen Louise stopped in at the
steam room in the Y where she works out three times a week. She
saw a naked man in there playing with his peepee. Evidently he
wanted her to play with it, too, and to let him play with hers.
She was shocked that people acted like that in a YMCA facility.
HELLO, girlfren. You shouldda been here when the notorious
Embarcadero Y was in full swing -- which is to say there were
faggots swinging from the chandeliers and every uncovered cock.
It got so bad they had to make the fire stair doors out-only to
cut down on the traffic from floor to floor. The legit customers
weren't getting any sleep what with the screeches of delight all
night. "Visit San Fagsissyko and stay at the Young Men's
Cocksucking Association on the waterfront".
This time I managed to get copies of the two free weekly
newspapers before the bums grab them all for bedding. The SF
Weekly competes with the more established Bay Guardian. They are
both good papers; they hate Willie Brown.
Willie Brown is our fancy-pants Mayor who wears US$3000 suits,
fedoras of equal quality, is a shameless schmoozer of power-
brokers and an expert corporate asskisser. When this fop was
Speaker of the Assembly in the state legislature at Sacramento he
shamelessly filled his war chest with money from tobacco
conglomerates and such other undoers of the People.
He has done nothing for the people who actually live in this
City. They are now distributing RECALL WILLIE buttons at the
Castro MUNIserable subway station. The problems this town has
are fast becoming as ingrained as those of a chicago and may now
be as difficult to cure. The corruption is much the same; only
the ethnicities fighting over the pie scraps are different.
Mikey the Hettie says the Filipinos are pushing out the
Hyphenated-Americans from the MUNI transportation power
structure.
This unrest mirrors a similar movement among the peoples of
Oakland, across the Bay. Oakland, AKA "Wes' Dee-troyt", has been
largely poor and black on the east end for two generations. San
Francisco's Chinatown and the downtown areas (such as the
Tenderloin) are spreading out and putting pressure on the
traditionally black neighs. In Oakland, which has its own
traditional Chinatown) the Asians are spreading east. Those upon
whom the pressure is placed are retaliating there by burning down
Asian-owned businesses.
In SF, the Asians are lately expanding southeast into the
Bayview/Hunters Point area near Candlestick Park. For their
audacity, the old guard in these neighs are breaking into
newcomer dwellings and beating the crap out of the newbies. SF's
Housing Authority has already been taken over by HUD because the
political cronies running it are grossly incompetent. We're not
sure, but we don't see HUD making much improvement either. Maybe
they should burn the "projects" down and just start over -- or
put everybody below a certain annual income from honest-to-Glub
work into cattle cars and dump them in the middle of Kansas.
"Yo! Moms! -- we ain't in Californee no mo'..."
I was stupefied to find a short article in the SF Weekly which
hit close to home. It's a recommendation in their annual list of
best things about the City--
BEST NORMA DESMOND IMPRESSION
Cafe du Nord
2170 Market @ Sanchez
Bop on down to the Cafe du Nord any Tuesday, Friday or
Saturday and be sure to order a Campari and Soda from waiter
Michael Wagner. [You know him as Mr Cheez.] At the very
mention of Campari, Wagner's eyes grow large and piercing;
his cheeks cave, accentuating already well-formed cheek
bones; his chin juts out with girlish cunning; and his
sashay becomes ... well, seeing is believing. If the
bartenders can get past giggling, you might just get your
cocktail -- unless you're a goth, of course.
We found out they got everything wrong in the paper but we are
going to work it. The person who really does the Norma Desmond
thing ("I am ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille...") is a waiter
named Sable. Mr Cheez is a doorman/bouncer. Sable is livid at
this misidentification in the manner and to the degree only a
true male bitch on wheels can be. The Concubine, Mr Cheez's male
live-in, hates Sable whom he calls The Princess. Sable is The
Princess because we all know who Da Kaween is, don't we...?
Mr Cheez and I worked up this coupon deal for the club--
CAFE DU NORD
2170 Market near Sanchez
Echange this card for a
Campari and soda at half
price and toast Michael
for me.
NORMA
SF Weekly's Best of '97 says of Michael,
"BEST NORMA DESMOND IMPRESSION"
This offer expires 31 July 1997
Do you see how beside himself Sable is going to be when he gets
wind of this deal? (if the boss goes for it?) Sable already
wants to start digging out eyes and twisting off nuts.
Mr Cheez and I tried a Vietnamese restaurant at Sixth and Market
Streets which has the reputation of being cheap and good. It is
cheap and good but not cheap and excellent. The bill for two was
under coffee shop meal range. It's next door to a well-regarded
but equally tacky burrito hive. I think they share some kitchen
and clean-up space. The downside was that we could hear the
of the mariachi music through the wall.
The revealing side is that there was a dozen or so Spanish-
speaking neighborhood types in the Vietnamese part.
On our way up hill to the Royal Residence, I saw a newspaper rack
offering the usual assortment of titty rags plus one which
appeared to be a patriotic pub of some sort until I looked more
closely. It is also a sex paper. The name of it certainly goes
directly to the point: Yank, Vol 1 No 17.
The Concubine has been selling "Tony's Famous" chocolate chip and
oatmeal cookies at du Nord and doing quite well. What with the
freaks parade coming Sunday, he is madly slaving his tits over a
hot oven making 400 cookies to hustle up and down the street to
the spectators. The cookies go for a buck each, so he stands to
make a nice piece of change. Mrs Fields, watch out.
The San Francisco Gay, Lesbian and Transgendered Celebration has
become so politicized and fractionated that it now includes
contingents from every form of freakdom imaginable. It still
starts off with the Dykes on Bikes. Why are these women all
uglier than most milch cows and why do they have udders to match?
I'm sure clothiers make bras and blouses which would support and
cover this sickening display. The lesbian presence is as heavy
as the aroma of raw fish in Chinatown yet the womyn are not
satisfied. They will be having a dyke parade on the eve of the
big parade.
The big parade on Sunday uses Market Street, the main drag
through Downtown and the Financial district. The festival
booths, political screeching, and the queer merchandising will go
on at the Embarcadero at the foot of Market Street. If Harry
Bridges and all those macho stevedores he led in revolt in the
30s could see what's become of their beloved waterfront -- well,
I'll bet even Buzzard is twirling in his grave, though I think
Buzzard was on our side of the bulkhead.
The dyke parade Saturday evening will begin on the end of 16th
Street in the Castro district (we have to show those silly
dickhead pantywaists who's really boss). It will go to Mission
Street where they may succeed in striking fear in the hearts of
the lowriders and their molls.
But I bet this clambake comes apart at Valencia Street, a block
ahead. If you were a muffdiver, could you resist such
establishments as Red Dora's Saloon, Leather Tongue Video, The
Bearded Lady, and Good Vibrations (the famous dildo parlor)? Mr
Cheez says they will get wild at the corner of 17th and Lexington
Streets where there is a new, hot, dyke bar called -- what
else? -- The Lexington. The Licking Tongue is more like it.
Poor Mr Cheez. He has to be doorman at the club tonight and
they're having a dykefest. The Emcee will be the famous Fairy
Butch Bitch -- and that's MIZZ Fairy Butch Bitch to YOU, hettie
suckah! I asked if she was petite/cute dyke or-- Mr Cheez said
this one is big fat cow butch bitch what put the 'ugh' in ughly.
The show they're putting on is called Quiver.
The lady across the hall from Queen Alexander and I is very proud
of her diagnosis as Paranoid Schizophrenic. She tells everybody
about it. I think most days she remembers to take her medicine
... most days. The other night there was a commotion in the
hall. Elvira hit the emergency button in her room. Then she
called 911 -- four times. Elvira said a man came into her room.
The man allegedly played with her vagina. (We know only that the
man came into her room and not whether he came.) If this assault
did indeed take place, the man was truly desperate for
companionship.
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Pee First, By the Grace of Glub Queen of Alt.Tasteless
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So saith the Liturgist, So saith the Queen:
Go forth and be Tasteless, you cunts!
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