First, gotta say how much I’m lovin’ these cranky-ass comments everybody’s leaving. You all make sinister voice-mailing Alec Baldwin seem like some sort of friggin’ pansy, by comparison. Particularly intrigued by all the Queen Latifah remarks that claim I’m the one who’s ultimately being antigay by writing Blind Vices about closeted celebs, making it seem like their actions are sinister and bad, therefore I’m the one promoting self-hating activities by gay people, and therefore I’m part of the problem. Screw that crap. Just the messenger here, babes. I mean, by that warped thinking, half the White House press team is responsible for the war in Iraq, just by virtue of reporting it, what a crock of BS.
And just to prove my point, here we go again—and babes, is it ever an evil delish one! Dimpled Drew is a most successful performer. He’s got it all, good wife at home, a family who adores him, looks, bucks, nice bod, cute face, what could possibly be missing? Uh, well, for starters, certain activities that involve the type of person Eddie Murphy’s infamous for transporting in the middle of the night: trannies. Transvestites, to be exact, i.e., men who dress in women’s clothing, often for the purpose of sexual pleasure and to perform lustful exercises for seemingly straight men.
You know the type these pretty hons hook up with: Dudes who pretend they’re all happy and het in their other life, all the while they’re getting down with male-male sex on the sly, and convincing themselves it’s OK, ‘cause the dude’s wear lipstick and a wig. You straight men just crack me up, particularly when they’re as stupid as Dimpled Drew.
See, D2, always deftly used an anonymous email account to set up his rendezvous with his fave tranny, let’s call her Maxi Knee-Pad. So, Maxi was always given strict instructions: leave the front door to her apartment open, lights out, candles only, then Dimpled would creep on in at the appointed hour and get serviced (a lot, and all the hell over, babes, pretty horny dude here we’re talkin’ about, hardly just a homo-curious lad, he’s an all-out slut!) and then slip away into the night, D.D.’s true identity undetected.
And it worked. Until one day, the handsome dumbass made a date with Maxi from his regular email account, which had his real name on it. Hmmm. Wonder how the fan base you’re, like, totally effing with by lying to them, would feel about this, Mr. Drew? Shall we find out?