Category Archives: bloggers



So this is mrpeenee’s sixth birthday.  I have no idea how these things happen.

I originally started this whole thing only because I wanted to comment more easily on Thombeau’s long gone and most lamented Fabulon and at the time, Blogger made it easier to sign in if you had your own blog.  I still miss Fabulon.

Anyway, after that things just sort of got out of hand.  I certainly never imagined I’d make friends here, connections that would be a great comfort during those dark times around  R Man’s death.  It helped a lot.

And now I have people I’ve never physically met who have opinions about my sex life and decorating and cat (appropriately, I’m typing this without my right thumb because of a big ol’ gash on it from Saki. I swear I am sending him back to Cat Jail.)  And commenters.  I love comments.

And muscle pussy. 

In six years, I have outlasted that pissy queen who used to just post comments so he (or she) could deride my grammar.  I would like to point out Diane von Austinburg is a professional editor and if she can suck up my fondness for gerunds and erratic punctuation, I think everybody else should too.

I have stuck it out through the creepy infatuation of my stalker who used to post coyly and too-affectionate notes and tried to pick comment fights with bloggers I actually admired like Mitzi and Mean Dirty Pirate.  Of all the nerve! I actually turned to MJ from Infomaniac about him (which should tell you how unnerved by him I was) and her advice to ignore him and he would eventually go away was quite right.

Lots of muscle pussy.

We have all lasted long enough for the return of Cafe Muscato, which is most appreciated.

Also, through the magic of bloglandia, I have been able to dragoon Ask the Cool Cookie into helping with Secret Agent Fred’s house in Baltimore and a big thank you to him for that.

Blogs.  They’re handier than you might think.

Lots and lots of Muscle Pussy

Picture It


Ask the Cool Cookie comments in our photo blathering post below “… what am I contract working on at this moment? A professional photo organizer. At least I get paid to do it.”  I say Right On, Girl, but am astonished at the same time.  It’s difficult enough slogging through all my own photographic proof of shenanigans long gone, and I know, in large part, who the shenaniganners are.  I can’t imagine how you could deal with a stack of strangers mugging at the camera.

For instance, in digging through a tasteful box of loose prints, I wind up brooding, “I know that’s Diane, but what’s with the guy wearing a pig on his head?”  What happens when Cookie runs across the equivalent of this porcine portrait?  How many can you file under “Miscellaneous?”  Plenty, I suppose.

Courageously enough, I am making room by throwing away some.  Editing, editing, always editing.  Photos of somebody’s dog, studio portraits of in-laws who always irritated me, school pictures of tiny tykes who I would be unable to pick out of lineup now (and that seems like a fate that could certainly be awaiting some of them.)  Somehow it seems radically daring to toss them, but honestly, I have thousands of others that I’m actually interested in, why hang on to the flotsam?

Speaking of Shenanigans, here’s mrpeenee modeling the latest in endangered polyester, courtesy of a friend who has drifted off, the victim of time and tides.  How I wish I could say differently about the coat, but she took it with her.  Rats.

And if I were fortunate enough to have the original of this, would I ever toss it?  Certainly not.  As Diana Vreeland once said “I miss fringe.”



I knew I needed to pay more attention to this whole getting-elected-pope thing, but how could I focus when those fussy old queeny cardinals were pissing on my last good nerve and then I got distracted looking up this redhead on the Night is Half Gone blog

Can you blame me?

Plus I got this extremely unsettling email from MJ over at Infomaniac:
Dearest Pope Peenee:

Would you do me the kindness of emailing a frontal photograph of your good self?  Not necessarily top to bottom (pun intended) but something with your face in view and not in profile.

I had several likenesses of you but when my computer crashed I lost them.

Not that I’m planning to Photoshop you or anything. *crosses fingers behind back*

Respectfully (again, with fingers crossed behind back*,

Mistress MJ

God almighty, I have a hard enough time sleeping at night with the fucking cat commandeering the best part of the mattress and now I keep peeking under the bed expecting MJ to pop up like that clown doll in Poltergeist.  Can you blame me?

Anyway, the old dears in the Vatican were adamant about no working from home.  They said if Yahoo can’t do it, why should the pope.  So that was a non-starter for me right there.  I think they were just afraid I wouldn’t share the Brazilian stripper/choir boys.
Actually, I would not have shared this.  Do I look crazy.  Don’t answer that.
So, ok, fine, one more tiny little dream of mine, crushed.  If only I could comfort myself in that redhead’s pits.

The Return of peenee


Yes, I’m back, thank you.  Secret Agent Fred and I had a lovely time in New Orleans, although I seem to remember more of it than Fred does.  Poor dear was just the teensiest bit too enthusiastic in celebrating the New Orleans sport of drinking oneself blind.

We also got to hang out with that bloggers’ blogger, Jason, from Night is Half Gone and he and I had a very amusing afternoon eating beignets (there are some New Orleans cliches you simply have to embrace) and talking blogger talk, which essentially meant we were gossiping about you, our dear, dear readers.  My dears, the things Jason said about you.  Of course, I tried to defend you, but he was not to be denied.  For a fairly reasonable fee, I will forward you the filth he poured out about you.  Please allow sufficient time for me to make it up.

So we saw many cute boys, some of whom seem to be lost in Fred’s bourbon fueled mists, but none of whom were this cute.

Now that I’m back, I’ve turned my attention once again to the L.A. Times’ crossword puzzle which today included the clue:

“Rock from a Sock”

I was eventually able to chisel out the answer as being:

“See Stars” or possibly “Sees Tars”

Am I missing something?  I mean, I want my puzzles to be challenging, but including simple gibberish seems to be cheating.  Does this make sense to anybody?

Blogging: the Antique of the Internet


There was a time when I used to put a new post every day on mrpeenee, back in the days when I was working.  Or “working.”  Or let’s just call it back when I had a job, and the job allowed plenty enough free time to keep daily posting viable.   Now that I’m retired and all my time is my own, somehow it seems much more difficult to crank up the old mrpeeneegram and rattle off insights into thrift stores, or decorating, or skin care or any of the other labels I tag my posts with.  And what an odd, odd list that is, with “beefcake” the most frequent, but also including, apparently, one on “bodily functions.”  Even I am scared to see what that might be.

I’m not ignoring my poor little blog, I’m just lazy.  I’d feel worse about this, but my perusal of my favorite other bloggers shows me we’ve all slowed down somewhat, and some have just faded off into the distance.  Farewell Pansy Bastard, adieu Temporary Troublespots.  Let me be quick to add how glad I am to have some of the miscreants drop out and then return (looking at you, Thombeau and Cafe Muscato.)

I understand it’s the lure of Facebook and Instagram and Tumblr and other online wastes of time that have been such a cruel blow to blogging and I also get it that blogging is fast becoming a sort of quaint hobby, like train spotting, but again, I’m lazy, and don’t feel like moving on.  Maybe I’ll change the name of this to News from Dinosaurland.

The mrpeenee blogging crew in action.

Besides, I’m a gassy old queen and the 140 character limit is one I just couldn’t deal with.

Just adding to the mrpeenee Beefcake quota.

Well, That’s Five Years We’ll Never Get Back


I know I was supposed to be putting up a post all about my blog birthday (Happy Five to me, bitches!) but I’ve been distracted by eating nectarines, cause it’s July and you need to roll with them while you got ‘em, am I right?  But finally the one I had this afternoon delivered the tender and tart deliciousness of a door knob, so I realized it’s time to move on.

So with that, let’s raise the curtain on

mrpeenee’s Fifth Anniversary Dragapalooza: Cinco or Swim!

Star of stars, mrpeenee will be hosting as that darling of the oppressed 99.9%, Pepper Spray.  I will, of course, be performing my signature number Police on My Back.  I know I probably shouldn’t be setting the bar so high at my own party, but with talent like mine, what can I do?

Here’s a publicity still from latest picture, Gidget Occupies Malibu.  Maybe hasn’t opened in  whatever unimportant cow town you’re reading this in, but when you get the chance to buy it (not rent or pirate, you cheap bitch) I’m sure you’ll be dazzled by my work.

Our cast this evening is all the vixens and viragos of mrpeenee’s frequent commentors and what a mixed bag (so to speak) those lazy cows are:

Clutter from the Gutter’s own Mitzi offers up (“with a shy giggle that sounds like a cascade of silver bells my entry for your jubilee, and long may you reign!”)

 Petula Plenty was  just a common prostitute in Piccadilly, London, before making it big as a Shirley Bassey impersonator. The streets weren’t paying enough, and the draft up her skirt brought her out in a terrible rash, and the anitbiotics weren’t working, so in 1995 she got up on the stage at The Vauxhall Tavern in London, dressed as a magician’s moll and sang her little heart out. The audience loved her. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Her incredible debut album ‘Tits On Fire’  won her four Brits and countless other awards, she even knocked Madonna off the number 1 spot in several countries world wide.

Songs on the album include: Simply The Breast –  by Tina Turner;  Knocker Three Times – by Dawn;  Mammary Mia – By Abba;  Radio Bra Bra – by Queen;  Always On My Tits – by Elvis plus many many more.

Petula Plenty facts: Chris Rea couldn’t afford the real Shirley Bassey for his 1996 film soundtrack La Passione so he used Petula Plenty instead.
Affectionately known as  ‘Pet’ gay men worship her, believing her to have supernatural powers.

Mitzi gets her own dressing room, because she is a star and not because everyone else is afraid of what may be hiding in her bag.  Or not only.

Designing Wally reveals

My drag name: Kit Encaboodle

My song for you:  Missing Persons- I Like boys:

xoxox, Gary

PSsst!  Boys like me, too….

What, you mean boys as opposed to possums?  Darling Wally can be so obscure sometimes, you know?

Blogging Sinsation Jason, from Night is Half Gone, wants us to know

 here’s my inner temptress…well, one of them: Miss Vaseline McCooter

I’m planning to bring a positive, affirming message to this contest, unlike these other trifling bitches. 

And of course, I’ll be singing Shirley Brown’s classic Woman to Woman 

Because cooterhood is powerful. And so is that mop Jason is working.

NormaDesmond arrives late, as is appropriate for a Big Star (also cause the bitch didn’t send anything in, so I made this up for her.  As I told the old thing “NORMA FUCKING DESMOND needs to be in this show.”  Anyone disagree?  Shut up and sit back down.)

Norma will be playing Gloria Swanson playing Norma playing a washed up silent star playing that paragon of glamour and crazy: Norma Desmond.  I think I got lost somewhere in there, but so did she and at least I’m not burying a monkey in the back yard.  Norma considered and discarded all the sad, sad songs from that big mess Sunset Boulevard, the Musical and instead will be selling her famous one-woman duet – Crazy by Patsy Cline, and Crazy by Gnarls Barkley, and Crazy by Seal after which mrpeenee will shoot her with a tranquilizer dart gun.  It’s a big number.

Another late entry is our most beloved Muscato, rising from her hospital bed to assay her alter ego, legendary Finnish diva Mme. Watta-Setta Nakkers, with her internationally acclaimed rendition of the beloved “Flower Duet” from Lakmé, in which she plays the musical saw for the mezzo line. 
As an encore, she and her trusty metal pal tackle “Nowadays” from Chicago (her tap break will take your breath away. Literally). 

So good of dear Muscaato to bring a bit of elegance to this tawdry evening.  She has such tone, don’t you think?

Mistress Borghese flies in with

Now honey, rest assure, us bitches will come through, it is just tough to get the damn lead out!!!! Now for my photo selection, I’ll use my own drag name the Mistress Borghese, and my own drag persona. As I tend to be quite the temptress, in one of my favorite impresontations of the fabulous Carmen Miranda. For my number I’ll do a lively rendition of the stunning and lavish performance to  CHICA CHICA BOOM CHIC!  I just hope I can keep all my orbs from falling out this time! 

I’m sure all of us are relieved to read that the dear Mistress is the sumptuous fruit bowl and not the undead sea hag lurking in the corner.  One just never knows. 

Jon (aka Dolores Delargo Towers) provides us with an interpretive art piece of his dragness

for a better look:

He continues: A “drag name” I came up with many moons ago – I would have to be Pyroclastic Flo!

And the song? Samy K feat. Diva Avari – Fucking Bitch, of course

 (ed. note: Darlings, you need to go see this.  it’s summin.)

I look forward to the show!!

How sweet, dear.  I do, too, if I can ever get through this goddam cut and paste marathon.

The always elusive  (I just typed that as “ewlisive,” but that was a mistake.  Honest) Anonymous,too let’s us know 

Yup, my inner drag queen goes beyond fierce, right through ferocious, to downright dangerous.  I think the drag name would have to be Annie Muss.  The song?  The Rolling Stones’ “Bitch”, or maybe Sir Elton’s “The Bitch is Back.”

Did you think to have Trekkiedrag on the stage?  Pretty certainly not, but that’s the beauty of Cinco or Swim: something for everyone.  And somethings for no one.

Ask the Cool Cookie, god love her, interrupts a transcontinental move to send us this

Here’s how I see myself on stage :  Miss Gypsy Rose Lee, being coy.

 And I would be fucking FABULOUS, and family friendly.

Yes dear, whatever you say.  In a scary sort of way.

Our Bold Soul Sister, Ms FirstNations, assures us she will take the stage as  “Yomama BinLoggin” and will wow whatever audience still remains with Aretha Franklin’s Respect

Do you ever find Ms FirstNations the teensiest. tiniest bit scary?  Like maybe you’d go out for a quick drink with her and wake up in some trailer park in another state in a tub of ice?  Yeah, me too.  And I say that in the most loving manner possible.  Don’t hurt me.

Our most beloved Thombeau of Planet Fabulon, the Redundant Variety Hour and points west will be pitching cleanup and sassily claims:

“Here I am as Trampe L’Oeil, international temptress. No lip-sync for moi! Basically all I do is the can-can until I become dizzy and collapse into a sweaty, drunken heap, babbling incoherently. Works every time! Of course, I rarely do drag anymore, but can often be found flouncing around the rest home, as is my way…”


Anyone surprised should raise their hand now.  No one?  No, I thought not.

And with that we’ll be ringing down the curtains, wild acclaim showering down on us all as we scrabble madly for whatever stray pharmas we can dig out of Thombeau’s bag.  Cause it’s not just mrpeenee’s drag show.  It’s my goddam party.


the mrpeenee Anger Management Squad on Alert Level High

so the almost charming MJ and Thombeau shamed me into digging into Bloggers innards in order to get back to the old blogger interface, the absence of which I so shrilly have been decrying here.

After successfully following MJ’s patient directions (couched specifically for me in very small words,) I was greeted with this message from Blogger:

The old Blogger interface will be removed in the coming month.
So brace yourselves, Karen Black is at the controls.

The mrpeenee That Care Forgot


Vacation slide shows. Who doesn’t love them? I’m going to split this last little trip into the New Orleans and Austin segments to better drag it out. Whee! Let’s go!

We had a lovely time in New Orleans. Secret Agent Fred had never been and was most impressed with all the the charm, the architecture, the food, the cute boys, and mostly the law that allows you to take your cocktail with you out of the bar in a plastic Go Cup. There were many Go Cups involved.
Also involved was the ongoing misapprehension by about everyone we came in contact with (including the hotel desk clerk, who I’m pretty sure was an old trick of mine) that Fred was my spouse and that I was an abuser. Spousal Abuse! How hilarious. Fred had gotten in a brawl in a bar here the night before we left (oh, those Irish hooligans) that resulted in a broken jaw, a black eye, and various scrapes and bruises.

I thought about getting a tee shirt that said “Not My Fault” but I never got around to it.

It also resulted in us using a candy wrapper as an eye patch and a 40 of piss water beer as an accessory one late night in a patio at our hotel. It was a very late night.

The same night, same patio, I was a middle aged mutant ninja. I supposed it was result of all those people thinking I had popped Fred in the eye in some misguided homage to Rick James.
Speaking of happy times, we celebrated my birthday at one of my favorite joints, Liuzza’s, where we were joined by a gang of best old friends

Let’s just call them “The Girls.”

as well as Diane von Austinburg and blogger extraordinaire Jason from Night is Half Gone

who very, VERY sweetly brought my favorite birthday cake in the world, a New Orleans specialty called a Doberge. Rich and totally delicious.
We also got to hang out with Jason and his drastically good looking boyfriend at an odd bar outside the French Quarter. The joint had this bullet proof door you had to be buzzed in through, I suppose with the idea it would keep out the low lifes, but there were plenty more riff raff inside than out, so maybe that plan wasn’t working so well. Also, I have no pictures from that part of the evening because by then I was so loaded I apparently mistook my car keys for some kind of super spy camera and tried taking pictures with them. Again, another plan that so very didn’t work. Still Jason and his boyfriend John were funny and charming, just like his blog so it was fun.
Most of our time was just spent wandering around the French Quarter and the neighborhood next door, the Faubourg Marigny. During the prehistoric time I lived there, The Quarter was the gay neighborhood and Marigny a quiet little backwater, but time marches on and now The French Quarter is much too expensive real estate for impoverished poofters (like I was) and now all my friends have fled to the Faubourg, a charming area full of pretty houses that have benefitted from this migration.

My friend Cow Queen says the places that used to be cheap apartments in the Quarter are now vacation homes for out of towners. Certainly that would explain the odd, almost deserted quality its streets have at night now, so different from the crazy buzzing energy of my youth there.

It was sad and sort of poignant to walk them after midnight, as we did so often, and see so few people around. It reminds me how wildly lucky I was to be there when I was.
What else, let’s see….

At some point on every trip I make to the Old Country someone snaps a “I Walked with a Zombie” shot of me.

Our hotel, the Provincial, located directly across from where R Man and I used to live, had an unexpectedly charming bar in it. If you’re in town I recommend it.

You get home from a trip, look through your photos and wonder “Why did I take four pictures of a dumpster?” Then you remember you liked the color of the shutters and were, perhaps, a tiny bit loaded.

Our friend Rich has the most charming patio. Full of bananas and elephant ears and ginger, it’s like the definitive New Orleans setting.

So, yeah, a fabulous trip and a sweet reminder of how I love the old place.

Infomaniac: Too Much Time and not Enough Midol


Fine, fine. I skip patrolling the interwebs one goddam day and that Canuck hag Infomaniac sneaks this in behind my back:

If You’re Going to San Francisco

That tremor on the street that you’re feeling may not be an earthquake.


Looks like Mr. Peenee‘s eaten one too many shortbread cookies during the festive season.

As I warned her just the other day, bitch continues to Ask For It.

Fun with Blogs

Those of you who dropped by over the last few days may have noticed I went all crazy and stuff and replaced the tasteful background I had been using here with one that was a picture of me and R Man that had been run through a warholizer.

I decided it had to go cause it was giving me a headache, but by then I had lost the picture of the fern frond and since I was too lazy to go all the way out in the yard and take another one, we are now featuring our lovely, lovely Datura Brugmansia. Revel in it, because I am also too lazy to change it for a while.
That’s just how it goes in Gaylandia. Leave a mo to his own devices long enough and redecorating is bound to happen.