While watching the Wendy Williams show with my mom…
“Is that what a drag queen is?” Mom queried in her ever so gentle way.
“No,” I replied, “She’s just wearing a drag queen wig.”
Are drag queens boys who used to be girls, or girls who used to be boys?” Mom said as she stirred her lemon tee and counted Club crackers.
“Uh…either or neither, but I was just kidding about her hair.”
“Three crackers equal one bread exchange; are they transsexuals?”
I thought for a moment about whether or not Florida was home to any cracker transsexuals, then I thought about Larry the Cable guy secretly dressing in pink camo sweat pants with “juicy” on the ass. “I don’t really know, I suppose some are and some not.”
“Do they get their dicks from cadavers?”
“You’re just going to jump right out there with that? No polite lead in?” I said after I was able to close my mouth.
“You know, like organ transplants; do you have any honey for my tea?”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere, give me a minute,” I said.
“Do they have to do color matching?” She wondered.
“I think they build them out of sausage casing.”
“Really!” She sipped her tea. “How do they get them… you know…” She tapped on cracker on her plate.
“Hard?” I said, reluctantly.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat sausage again,” she groused as she munched her hard cracker.
“What about the cute old butcher at Publix?” I teased.
“For God’s sake, he’s not a transsexual is he?”
“You’re both like freakin eighty; what difference does it make?”
She thought… “It’s been so long I can’t remember, but I’m sure it might make some!”