Some while back I posted a thread about how some of the local drag queens, with one in particular, were bitchifying about me behind my back and trying their pathetic best to turn random people against me based on apparent mistaken identity. I just spent most of my lunch period trying to find the thread, completely unsuccessfully (it was called something like “local drag queens have their knives out for me” if you want to try).
Anyway, I’m out last night and I see signs and flyers up for a memorial service for the ringleader of that little smear campaign. Apparently he had some sort of congenital heart problem and it caught up with him a couple weeks ago. Suddenly some of the other drag queens in town, who I know for a stone fact hated him, are metaphorically rending their garments with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The most surprising thing about it to me is the discovery that the little creep actually had a heart.
The gravesite has not yet been disclosed and thus is unavailable for dancing. While I don’t find myself actually caring one way or the other about his death, it is an odd feeling knowing one has outlived one’s nemesis–even if the nemesis in question was completely lame-ass.
This probably would have been a much more interesting OP if I’d been able to link to that first thread. Or if I’d described my growing obsession with this one new bodybuilder stripper who’s offered a private “muscle worship” session at a surprisingly reasonable price.
You didn’t ask for advice, but I’m going to give it anyway. Don’t do anything about the “creep”. Just let it go. He’s dead. You will be remembered as the bigger person if you don’t sink to his level.
I live in the same town as Fred Phelps. I know some people who talk about picketing HIS funeral, when he dies. I this the man is evil incarnate, but I won’t committ the same sins against decency he has, when he dies.
I once read a story about a man who’s nemesis had died. He went out, rented a limo, a white tux and tails with matching top hat, and sparkly white shoes. Went to the grave yard, and danced away.
I personally think it would be therapuetic. But I may just do it some day, depending on how Judd cooperates.
I also remember the original thread - and having lived in Berlin 14 years, you can damn well bet I too knew my share of drag queens. I fully understood how you could get caught up in the middle of some supposed slight that blew out of proportion. They didn’t coin the phrase “bitter queen” for nothin’.
Never happy to hear of one’s death, but sometimes death comes quicker to those who live an unhappy, vengeful life. (I personally had better be careful for the next 4 political years.) I can imagine the combination of the bad heart, and a mean streak, did not do that person well.
While I wouldn’t dance on the grave if I were you, I might take some satisfaction that “karma works”.