Judge Red Fake Smile prounounces his judgments.

Tourists from Iowa meeting granny trannies on the streets of Chicago in our free, sponsored trolleys.
Does Auntie Annie know that Granny Tranny has a secret in the panties?
No.
And that's the beauty of the free trolley.
Sure, back in Iowa, you can talk all the republican trash you want about all the abominations unto God that are wandering the streets of the big city but the allure of Urbia is too strong. You bring your family to the places that you simultaneously curse and aspire to experience. You arrive and wonder at the architecture and the feats of humanity, not willing to admit that the humanity that accomplished these feats were probably not people you would have liked.
You would have chase Mies Van Der Rohe off the farm.
You would have punched Frank Lloyd Wright in the back with a bale of hay.
You would have laughed Skidmore, Owings and Merrill out of the town hall meeting.
And of course, you would have scolded the Granny Tranny.
But now you're on the trolley next to Granny and you don't even know that you hate her. But if you knew more, you would. You're telling your young children to be nice to the lady. If you were back home and saw a picture of Granny Tranny, you might think, "I think that's a man." and you would teach your children to spit at them.
But you're on my trolley now. The Judgmental, Welcome-To-Chicago, Don't-Get-An-Attitude-With-Me, Go-Back-To-The-Suburbs-Where-Everything-Is-Perfect, Trolley.
How dare anybody be anything other than respectful to people in a new city that has you as a guest.

It's funny. None of this that is written above ever happened. I don't know where this is coming from. Ooohhh, you know what? Sometimes there are some creepy homeless types that ride and try to talk to little kids and the parents either don't know that this is a homeless person or...and I hope this is the case...they know that the person is homeless and are trying to teach their children to be respectful of all people.

I'd rather think that they were stupid. It's better for blogging.

KCFringe Festival funtimes.

Kansas City did like this:
Shake, shake. Rumble rumble.
Fizszszszszszszszs....
That means good stuff. That's how we talk in Kansas City. I had forgotten but we only speak in inappropriate onomatopoeia that corresponds to something going on in another place. So without boring you with a long Lewis Carroll sounding poem (which I assure you, makes perfect sense in Kansas City) I'll just tell you what happened.
Day 1.
Got nervous. Got to town. Got to work. Got to the show. Got to work.
Got relieved. Got full of pizza and alcohol.
Day 2.
Got confused. Got listed in the paper at 6pm. Got listed on the internet at 7:30. Got curious. Got on the phone. Got offered both shows. Got to do two shows. Got very hot. Got sweaty. Got a tired but receptive audience. Got to see old friends. Got a drunk Jose' Tovar stealing my bits.
Day 3.
Got a lot of time to spend with friends and family. Got to see the baby Jaxon again. Got vomitted on by baby Jaxon. Got vomit removed. Got dropped off for final show. Got to see more old friends at show. (Got picture in paper. Got friends that remember my face.) Got inspired. Got bonus material. Got positive response for whole weekend.

By the way. some show related highlights would include causing two people to get up and walk out the door after my review of the Bible, watching a cameraman from the local news come in with his six year old daughter and start setting up his camera just in time for me to start doing my all cussing song (they left), and meeting someone who's father has my mothers exact birthday.

Take that other people!