helleaux | billy beyond's blog

You think YOU’RE sorry you’re dead? I’ll tell ya who’s sorry your dead. Everybody, that’s who. And another thing – everybody also knows you get no apologies for dying. They will not be accepted now or ever due to the fact that you are currently and in perpetuity certifiably non living. Don’t make me say dirt nap, Douglas. The only sign I want to see on your tombstone is, “Back In 15 Minutes.” YOU’RE sorry. yeah right. Good one. Now can the corn, corpse . S anyway, since you’ve been gone it’s been a shitshow here. I mean, if I told you that a global pandemic has been raging for over a year now you’d never believe me right? Well believe me. Oh that reminds me, if you see Nashom will you tell him that The Cock is opening up again soon and there’s a rumor going around that they are creating a new room in there to be known as The Nashom Lounge. I know he’ll love that.

Happy Memorial Day, Douglas, today’s your day! Back here in Hell you get exactly one day for dying. Period. One stinkin’ day to do nothing except maybe save twenty bucks on a mid size appliance and we have the nerve to call it a holiday. In your case you get quite a few days a year to be remembered and missed and continually loved – but those aren’t holidays. Those days when I’m talking to you or about you are pretty much the opposite of a holiday. Those are are the days when Douglas is still dead and everything is still full retail. Life is Hell.

Ya mind if I ask you a favor? Save me a space next to you, will ya? Hey, things happen you know? People die. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. I’d just like to live knowing that I won’t have to fight for real estate in my afterlife. Big hugs Doug…love your halo. I think you were right to forget the wings. Wings can make your ass look fat. Truth!!Bye Douglas. Everything still sucks here and I still love you. End of ceremony.

This ceremony is OVER, Douglas. I gotta run up to Macy’s annual white sale. It’s always impossible prices and high thread counts. I don’t suppose you could use…no. Nevermind. Byeeeeeee.

Spring is in the air!

(or is that just the smell of all the rotting piles of fish, fly covered duck parts, and the abundance of mushy, blackened, mouldy fruits and vegetables cascading out of the garbage bins on every corner of China Town after a long hot weekend?)

ANYWAY, I digress (yet again)… SPRING…or something…is in the air! And we all know what that means. There is something sinister lurking just after Labour Day…. SUMMER. It’s that dreaded perennial season that inflicts self loathing, acute body dysmorphia, and humiliation upon most of the population. Every year it’s just as reliable as when Puxasutawney Phil comes peeking out of his burrow. It’s just as predictable as October bringing us Halloween. And of course the arrival of Halloween means attending parties where once more you hear the reoccurring theme of everybody’s costume. The description of said theme is naturally:

“I’m a Sexy ______”

(you can fill in that above blank with anything from “kitten”, “nurse”, “pirate”, “baby”, “homeless man”, “burn victim” through to “cadaver”)

But..back to our topic…

Yes, SUMMER is coming. The season whose high temperatures, and societal expectations demand that we wear less coverings over our pale, flabby bodies. Those same bodies that have been safely camouflaged all through autumn and winter by cashmere sweaters, silk lined woollen trousers, fashionable boots, hand knitted scarves, glamorous drama coats (à la Çomme de Garçon) and a vast variety of garments created from beautiful tactile fabrics. (le sigh)

Summer, on the other hand is the season, that to me, demands that I wear clothing and bathing suits that exacerbate the genetic betrayal that is my legacy.

I know a lot of people say: “You should just join a gym and start working out! You’ll get such a high from it!”, or “Take a Spin Class, it’s so much fun!”, and

“I’m on a really fun ______team, you should come and play with us!”

I have attempted all of those activities, and believe me when I tell you that I totally went at it half-heartedly, and gave it the best half-arsed effort that I kinda tried to muster. Going to the gym, and especially trying out a Spin Class made me completely anxious, self conscious and nauseous. Being around all those muscular, toned young people made me feel like a giant albino squid, thrown out of the ocean, and onto a beach. I was flopping about uncoordinated and exposed. All that my squid self desperately wanted to do was to find some way back into that ocean water again, and then squirt out a huge cloud of black ink in which to hide myself, and cower. In other words, as far as gyms? I’d rather wear fire as a hat.

After all of those experiences I have decided that I already get plenty of exercise from chain smoking, driving a stick-shift, wandering through the streets aimlessly every weekend, and lying in bed and complaining.

However, I did recently unearth a long forgotten ancient VHS tape!

(yes I DO do still own a VCR. I use it to view all of the old videos that I never got around to converting to DVD’s twenty years ago…and yes DVD’s still exist too. Not everything is on Netflix baby)

So this afore mentioned tape is an old eighties work-out tape was designed especially for men. I have been watching it and copying all the movements for weeks, but I am still not looking like any of the men on the tape. Then I realised that maybe the point isn’t looking like those men, but rather to just like looking at them.

Enjoy!